


Love and Basketball

by stiless__halee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Sports, Anal Sex, Basketball, Basketball Player Derek, Blow Jobs, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Divergence, Cheating, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, First Time, Heartbreak, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, basketball player stiles, love and basketball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stiless__halee/pseuds/stiless__halee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love and Basketball AU.</p><p>Stiles and Derek have grown up together. Between playing basketball and navigating through school, they fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Quarter -- 1999

Derek stands in front of Isaac and Boyd, easily dribbling the ball between his legs. He knows he's showing off, but damn, he can't help it. The middle school coach just told him that if he kept getting better, he'd have a chance to play varsity ball as a freshman. The last time someone played varsity ball as a freshman was back in the 70s, so if he ended up on the team--

"What are you smiling about?" Isaac complains. He lunges for the ball, but Derek sees the move coming. He takes a step back, crossing over, and grins when Isaac misses.

Derek stands up straight, holding the ball close to his chest. "You want to hear a secret?" Derek whispers. He bounces on his toes drinking in the eager looks that Isaac and Boyd are fixing him with. "I'm gonna be playing varsity my freshman year."

"Yeah, right," Boyd rolls his eyes. "Who told you that?"

"The coach," Derek says defensively. He puffs his chest out a little, daring Boyd to question him.

The taller kid just rolls his eyes. "Boy, he tells every point guard the same thing. And besides, you're only 11; you have three more years before you get to high school," Boyd grins. "He'll probably have a better point guard by then anyways."

"Shut up," Derek starts to dribble the ball again. He focuses on the way the ball sounds bouncing against the pavement. "I'm going to play varsity my freshman, go to Beacon University, and play in the NBA just like my daddy."

Boyd looks like he's going to say something when Isaac points over at the moving van next door. "Hey, look."

Derek follows Isaac's gaze, watching as a pale kid with large brown eyes strides over to him. He's wearing a plaid shirt and raggedy converse, and he looks like he belongs in the rough side of town instead of in this nice neighborhood. Derek scoffs at the kid, forcing himself to smile when the kid is close enough.

"Can I play?" the kid points at the basketball, his eyes wide.

"Are you good?" Derek asks. He stands up straight, satisfied when he sees that he's at least an inch taller than the kid.

"Yeah, I'm good," the kid retorts. He snatches the ball out of Derek's hands. "Are we gonna play or what?"

Derek nods, motioning for Isaac. "You can be on Isaac's team. We're playing first to ten."

The kid nods. He grins at Isaac, "I'm Stiles."

Isaac glances at Derek, who's rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Yeah, that's cool," Isaac mumbles.

Stiles deflates a little, but recovers when he notices Derek watching.

He dribbles the ball to the top of the makeshift basketball court in Derek's driveway. He passes the ball to Derek, "Check," he says. He slips out of his flannel shirt, revealing a Lakers jersey.

Derek eyes the Lakers jersey with disdain as he passes the ball back to him. There was no way he was letting some weird little kid in a _Lakers jersey_ beat him in basketball. He grins as he settles into a defensive position. He was gonna beat this kid ten to nothing.

Stiles dribbles the ball carefully, squinting as his eyes focus on the ball. He moves to go to the basket, but Derek blocks him. Frowning, Stiles passes the ball to the Isaac. Once Isaac has the ball, it's clear as to why Derek put him on Stiles's team. The kid can barely dribble, and Boyd is having no problem guarding him. Derek rushes to steal the ball from Isaac, leaving Stiles unguarded. Isaac passes the ball back to him, and Stiles immediately shoots. He watches as the ball soars up then curves back down to land in the basket.

"Damn," Boyd mutters appreciatively. "Kid got some game."

Derek rolls his eyes, unwilling to agree, "Focus on guarding him, alright?"

After that, Derek steps his game up. He guards Stiles closely making it harder for him to shoot. He's playing better than he has in a while, easily making all of his shots. But no matter how good he's playing, Stiles seems to be playing even better. The kid is just  _good_. He doesn't even look like he's breaking out a sweat, and watching him just pisses Derek off.

It isn't long before Stiles has nine points. He's taunting Derek now, a grin plastered over his face. Derek swipes out to snatch the ball away, but Stiles floats away, gliding towards the basket. Desperate to stop him, Derek races after Stiles. He sends his whole body flying forward as he shoves Stiles to the ground.

Stiles drops like a pound a bricks, skidding across the asphalt. The ball goes flying out of his hands, and he groans in pain, his small hands cradling his chin. Isaac and Boyd rush over. They're rolling Stiles onto his back, hissing when they see the blood oozing between his fingers.

 

Stiles closes his eyes as his dad washes the blood away from his chin. He can hear his dad talking, saying something about how Stiles should be more careful, but he isn't listening. He's still trying to figure out if Derek will still want to play basketball with him after today. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but he liked the way it felt when Derek had his arm around his shoulders as they walked to Stiles's house after the game.

"Are you listening?" Stiles's dad turns Stiles's head so that his wide eyes are locked on his dad. "I need you to at least try to go a week without getting injured."

Stiles shrugs. "I'm fine, dad." He bats his dad's hands away so that he can slap on the band aid. "NBA players get hurt all the time. I got to get used to it if I'm ever going to be as good as them."

The bathroom door pushes open slowly, and a small head covered in floppy brown hair pops in. "I wanna see Stiles's scar."

"Scott," Stiles's dad sighs. "Didn't I tell you to wait in the kitchen?"

"I was waiting," Scott whines. He looks at Stiles, his bottom lip poking out. "Twins are supposed to share everything, so why can't I see it?"

Stiles shrugs as he carefully places the band aid over the scrape. He didn't want to share this with Scott. This was something that only he and Derek would share.

Scott is beginning to whine again when the doorbell rings. Their father takes one look at the two of them and then shuffles out the room to answer the door. Once their dad is gone, Scott peers up at his brother, his fingers already poking at the band aid.

"You're going to have an awesome battle scar," he mumbles.

Stiles beams.

Out in the living room, Derek's mother is handing over a homemade cake while Derek holds a hand crafted card. He fidgets with the card, trying not to look too guilty whenever the sheriff looks at him.

"Now, John," Derek's mother winks, "I know we want the boys to get along, so I made sure that Derek wrote Stiles an apology letter. He's even offered to walk Stiles to school tomorrow."

"That's great," the sheriff offers Derek a smile. "Although Stiles's twin brother, Scott, is going to tag along."

Derek's head jerks up. Stiles has a twin? There's _two_ of him? "How do you tell them apart?" He blurts.

"They aren't identical," the sheriff responds. "They should be coming out of that bathroom soon... Talia, you wouldn't mind moving this into the kitchen."

"I wouldn't mind at all," Talia coos. "You know, Derek has two sisters..."

The adults wander off somewhere, and Derek hesitates. Should he follow them? He watches his mother disappear around the corner then he shyly creeps down the hall. He can see the bathroom, and he peers inside, watching as Stiles retells the story of the basketball game to another little boy.

"Oh, Derek," Stiles grins when he notices Derek standing in the doorway. He yanks Derek inside, kicking the door closed. "This is my brother Scott. I'm older than him by twenty-seven minutes."

"That's cool," Derek nods, his eyes never once straying from Stiles. "I made you this card."

He passes the card to Stiles, blushing when he sees how carefully Stiles is handling the card. He opens it slowly, taking his time to read the words.

As Stiles closes the card, Derek can't help but smile. "Walk with me to school tomorrow, okay?"

Stiles nods, "Okay."

Off in the corner, Scott pouts. Nobody wants _him_ to walk to school with them.

 

Stiles and Scott are already waiting for Derek when he pulls up on his bike. He grins when he notices that the brothers are looking at him in awe. He can tell that Scott's checking out his bike, but Stiles's eyes are trained on the small bead of sweat that rolling down his face.

"You look good," Stiles says, blushing. He looks down at feet, glancing up at Derek through his eye lashes.

Derek smiles shyly. "Well, if you think I look so good, maybe you should be my boyfriend."

There's a moment of silence, and Derek starts to think that maybe he shouldn't have said that. Before he can play it off -- _ha, just kidding_ \-- Stiles nods his head eagerly.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles grins, bouncing on his toes. "What do we do?"

Grinning, Derek thinks about how his mom and dad acts. He can picture himself holding Stiles's hand and bringing him flowers whenever he's mad. In fact, he's about to mention all that, but instead he says, "We should kiss."

Despite the furious blush that working its way up Stiles cheeks, he nods his head. "Scott will keep watch while he kiss," he bites his lip. "No longer than five seconds, okay?"

Scott protests, adamant that they should just walk to school so they won't be late, but neither boy is listening to him. They're slowly scooting closer to each other, their noses bumping as they clumsily kiss. Their teeth clack against each other, and Derek's lips are too dry, but the kiss is perfect. When they pull away, they're both blushing.

"You want to ride on my handle bars," Derek suggests.

Stiles frowns. "I can walk on my own."

"So?" Derek rolls his eyes, irritated by Stiles's behavior. "You're mine, okay? That means you ride on my handle bars."

Stiles scoffs. His hands are balled into tight fists at his sides, and he takes a step into Derek's space. This time, he isn't blushing or getting ready to kiss Derek. Instead, Stiles looks angry enough to throttle him.

"I don't care about your stupid bike or your stupid handle bars," he shoves Derek, watching with satisfaction as the other boy goes tumbling off his bike.

Scott laughs. "I don't think my brother wants to be your boyfriend anymore."

Derek leaps up, shoving a finger in Scott's face. "Shut up, fat face."

Before he could do anything else, Stiles shoves him back. "Don't yell at him," he screams. He shoves Derek back again, not caring when he lands on his butt. "He's right I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore."


	2. Second Quarter -- 2006

"Oh, c'mon," Stiles yells. A teammate reaches over to grab his hand, but he shrugs them off. He isn't focusing on anything besides his urge to punch the referee in the face. "There was no way that was offensive foul."

Derek groans, "Calm down, Stiles. Don't do this with the USC recruiter here."

Stiles shakes his head, ignoring his teammate's advice. "He wasn't set. His feet was still moving," he's yelling now, getting in the referee's face.

The ref takes one glance at Stiles before wandering off. Stiles is dying to chase after him, but Derek's yanking on his arm.

"Let it go," Derek advises. He takes a glance at the shot clock -- they're up by five. "We're still winning; just focus on playing ball. And guard number 32."

Still irritated, Stiles nods his head. "Whatever," he grumbles.

He stands in position, ready to guard his man as the team sets the ball into play. He's moving faster now, fueled by his anger. He stays close to 32, making it twice as hard to get an open shot. When he falls back a little, the kid goes to shoot a lay up, but Stiles is already anticipating the move. He slaps the ball out of 32's hands, yelling when the kid lands on the floor.

As soon as the fabric of the kid's basketball shorts touches the ground, the ref is blowing the whistle.

"Technical foul on number 24," the ref yells, and the opposing team cheers.

Stiles gapes, ignoring the way Derek and a few other teammates are whispering for him to just move on. "What did I do?" he complains.

"Taunting," the ref's explanation is short and clipped.

"Taunting?" Stiles can feel his eyes widening. This referee has to be ridiculous. He didn't do anything wrong.

Stiles is about to press the issue when Coach Harris leaps to his feet. "Sub," the coach yells, pushing some poor kid off the bench. He yanks Stiles off the floor by the back of his jersey, angrily.

"Man, the ref sucks anyways," Stiles yells just loud enough for the referee to hear him.

The ref just rolls his eyes before returning to the game.

Stiles is about to insult him again when Coach Harris grabs him by the back of the neck, "Sit down and shut up, OK?" He whispers harshly. "Or do you want to get ejected from the game?"

Stiles looks up at the coach. He can tell that Harris isn't bluffing, and he grudgingly takes a seat on the bench. By the time the anger works its way out Stiles's system, they're already in the fourth quarter, and the USC coach has wandered off. 

 

Stiles stands off to the side as the cheerleaders and several enthusiastic members of the band run up and down the halls in celebration. He watches the festivities with a bored expression, too tired to even muster up a fake smile. How can he be happy when Coach Harris benched him for over half the game? It was the semi-finals and the coach from USC was there. Tonight could've been his chance to finally get a spot on a NCAA Division I team, but Coach Harris blew it.

Stiles turns to exit the gym, but he's intercepted by a tall, blonde woman.

"Stilinski, right?" the woman asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She flashes him a quick smile, and Stiles forces himself to smile back.

"Yeah, that's me," he mutters.

The woman eyes him up and down, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, "I'm Kate," she says quickly. "My cousin, Allison, is dating your brother. You might remember seeing me around; I'm a senior from Westley High." Stiles doesn't remember, but he pretends that he does. "I want to congratulate you on your game, but I was also hoping that you could do me a favor."

Stiles folds his arms across his chest, sizing the woman up. "What do you want?"

"Give this note to Derek," Kate demands. She passes him a folded piece of paper, grinning when he pockets it. "I know you guys are neighbors, and I figured that since you were his teammate that you could put a good word in for me."

Stiles eyes her incredulously. "I suppose I could tell him, but we aren't that close anymore."

Kate shrugs, flashing him another smile before disappearing into the crowd. Stiles watches her leave, confused by their encounter. He doesn't know why, but he feels uneasy giving Derek her note. He's about to pull the note of his pocket to read it when Derek saunters up to him.

"Who was the blonde?" he asks, leaning in close to be heard over the noise.

Stiles blushes, shrugging his shoulders. "Allison's cousin," he offers. "Did Cora and Laura ride over here with you?"

"No," Derek frowns. He glances over his shoulder as if he's expecting to spot his sisters in the crowd. "They came with my mother," he turns back to Stiles. "Do you need a ride home?"

Stiles nods, sheepishly. "My dad had a late shift tonight, and my mom is working late at the hospital," he pauses, then adds, "I think Scott is off screwing his girlfriend somewhere."

Derek laughs. "Yeah, alright. I'll drive you home."

Somewhere down the hall, the band has begun playing an off-pitch rendition of "We Are the Champions". The whole band is playing the song badly, and Stiles swears that he hears one trumpet playing the Star Wars theme song.

"C'mon," Derek tugs on Stiles's arm. "Let's get out here. I'm going to die if I have to sit through more of their awful music."

The pair navigates through the crowded halls, pushing their way past energetic fans. As they walk, students pat them on the backs and scream their names. Stiles blushes under all the attention while Derek soaks it up, grinning so hard that it's wonder he doesn't pull a cheek muscle.

Once they're in the comfort of Derek's car, Stiles pulls out the note. He eyes the paper warily, wondering if he should even give it to Derek. He's about to stuff it back into his pocket when Derek spots it.

"What's that?" he questions, pointing at the note.

Stiles frowns, holding the note close to his chest. "Keep your eyes on the road," he warns. Derek scoffs, but returns his gaze to the stretch of highway that lies in front of them. Shakily, Stiles unfolds the note. "Kate told me to give this to you."

"Kate?" Derek asks. He glances at Stiles for a moment. "You don't mean Kate Argent, do you?" When Stiles remains quiet, Derek laughs. "Oh shit, Kate Argent left me a note? She's, like, the hottest girl in the entire state of California."

"Hm," Stiles grunts as a response. "Derek Hale," he reads aloud, "I think you are so fine and I've been wanting to get with you. Let me take you to the winter formal and I promise I'll leave you satisfied." Stiles gives the note another once over before balling it up and tossing it into the backseat. He shakes his head unable to help the smile that's slowly creeping across his lips. Dang, is Kate getting that desperate? She has to promise a night of sex just to get a guy to even consider taking her out? 

"She's such a hoe," Stiles snorts.

"Why is she a hoe?" Derek argues.

Stiles looks at Derek in shock. Is Derek standing up for Kate Argent?

"She's a hoe because she's sending her vagina through the mail," Stiles argues, gesturing to the crumpled note in the backseat.

Derek shakes his head. "I think it's sweet," he pauses to glance at Stiles, "You're just mad because nobody is trying to take you to winter formal."

Flushing with embarrassment, Stiles ducks his head. "I have a date," he retorts. "And she's hot, too."

"Yeah, alright," Derek shoots back.

"I do," Stiles argues. He can feel himself growing angry. "Just because you're so excited to go to the dance with some tramp--"

"See there we go," Derek gestures to Stiles. "This is why nobody wants to recruit you."

The car falls silent. Stiles looks down at his hands, unable to even stomach Derek's sympathetic glance. He can tell that Derek's starting to regret what he's said.

"Who says nobody wants to recruit me?" The words come out softer than he intends, and Derek has to strain his ears just to hear them.

For a moment, Derek remains silent.

"Derek," Stiles presses. "Why do you think--"

"It's your temper," Derek blurts. He looks over at Stiles in exasperation. "You're always picking fights and you never listen. No coach wants to deal with that. It doesn't matter how good you are; you aren't getting recruited with that attitude."

Stiles bites his lip, unable to respond. He can hear Derek murmuring an apology, but he isn't listening anymore. His mind is swirling around the new information Derek just presented him with. He knows that he could be a  _little_ argumentative, but c'mon, what ball player isn't? He just gets a little emotional when he plays. It isn't a big deal.

When Derek pulls in front of the Stilinski house, Stiles bolts out of the car not bothering to say thank you.

Scott doesn't comment when Stiles comes rushing into their shared bedroom, tears rolling down his face. He doesn't speak when Stiles curls up on his bed, his body wrapped around his pillow. Instead, he waits until Stiles's sobs have died down and the only noises coming from him are quiet hiccups.

"You think I'm going to get recruited, right?" Stiles asks, hesitantly, his face still mashed into the pillow.

Scott nods his head, "Of course I do." He scrambles off his bed so that he can lie on Stiles's. "You're the best basketball player I've seen. Y'know, with the exception of Magic Johnson."

"Magic is retired, Scott," Stiles whines.

Scott laughs, "He's still the greatest." Scott takes a moment to run a hand through his twin brother's hair. "And you're pretty great, too. Any coach who doesn't see that must be blind. Trust me when I say that you're definitely going to get recruited."

"But tomorrow is the championship game," Stiles argues. He rolls over so that he and Scott are face-to-face. "It's the last game of the season. Hell, it's the last game of my high school career. If I don't get recruited tomorrow, then I'm done."

"It'll be OK," Scott reassures him. Stiles doesn't know how, but his brother sounds so confident that he can't help but nod his head in agreement. "The Beacon University coach is going to be there. He'll see you play, and he'll be jumping at the chance to recruit you." Scott smiles. "But don't worry about that. Think about other things."

"Like what?" Stiles grumbles.

Scott pauses before playfully nudging his brother. "The winter formal is coming up soon," he bounces excitedly, his leg knocking against Stiles's. "I know you said that you didn't want to go, but I think I found you a date."

"Who?" Stiles asks, curiosity getting the better of him. He can't think of anyone who would ever want to go to the dance with him. Despite being a star player on the basketball team, girls and guys avoided him like the plague.

"Erica Reyes," Scott whispers. He raises his eyebrows, and Stiles can't help but nod.

Erica has been in and out of school, but there is no denying that she's hot. She practically radiates sex, and Stiles is surprised that she's willing to go to the dance with him. The last he heard, she was trying to get Boyd's attention. Stiles mentions this to Scott who just waves him off.

"Boyd isn't going to the dance, and Erica said she'd be willing to do you a favor since we're such good friends," Scott explains.

Stiles snorts. That's why she was going. He's a pity date.

"Don't make that face," Scott scolds him. "She's a nice girl, and you're lucky she's willing to do this."

 

Derek walks into his house, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension at the bottom of his neck. He tosses his gym bag off to the side somewhere before wandering into the kitchen. His fingertips have barely grazed the refrigerator handle when his little sister, Cora, strides into the room.

"You're in such big trouble," Cora teases him. Derek raises an eyebrow in response, unwilling to give his sister the satisfaction of seeing him nervous. "Laura found an earring in the living room, and she thought it was mom's," Cora pauses the story, wiggling her eyebrows to give Derek a clue as to where the story is going. Derek isn't stupid. He knows the earring isn't his mother's. He knows that it's the gold hoop earring that Jennifer was wearing when he was fucking her on the sofa.

Derek sighs. "Shit," he mumbles.

Cora cackles, her eyes shining with amusement. Jesus, couldn't he have been gifted with a more compassionate sister?

He's about to politely tell Cora to fuck off when his mother's voice calls out to him, "Derek Eugene Hale, get your ass in my room this instant."

Derek grimaces. He shoots his sister a glare and then shuffles forward to his death.

Talia sits on the edge of the bed, holding up a delicate hoop earring. Her face is smoothed into a calm expression, but Derek knows that she's three seconds away from screaming.

He tries not to look too guilty as he stares at the offending piece of jewelry. "What's that?" He asks, jerking his chin at the earring.

"I don't know," Talia holds the earring up higher to examine it in the light. "Laura says she found it on the sofa. It isn't mine. It isn't hers. And it damn sure isn't Cora's."

The silence hangs heavy in the air as Derek struggles to come up with an excuse. His mind is working over time, just trying to think of something that won't sound like a  _complete_ load of shit.

"Jennifer came over to study."

And he said something that sounded like a  _complete_ load of shit.

His mother's eyebrows climb higher on her forehead as though she's amused by her son's pitiful attempt to lie his way out of trouble. "Jennifer came over to study," she repeats his earlier sentence, layering each word with disbelief. "I warned you about bringing people in this house; people will use you for your money. Everyone just wants a piece of Richard Hale's son."

"It isn't like that," Derek groans, he rubs his face with his hands. "I just -- it isn't even serious. It's over now, and I promise I won't bring any other girl or guy into the house."

Talia blinks, shocked that she won the fight so fast, but willing to let it go. "Do you know where your father is?"

Derek shrugs. "He was at the game, but I think he had a meeting or something like that."

Talia frowns, and Derek takes it as his cue to leave. He shuffles into his bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. As he closes his eyes, he can't help but have his mind wander over to Stiles. God, he just looked so heartbroken in the car earlier when Derek shouted at him. And while normally he wouldn't think twice about what he says, he can't help but wonder if he took it too far.

 

Stiles stands in the huddle, hunched over beside Derek as Coach Harris gives them a pre-game pep talk. The crowd is yelling and screaming, both schools eager to see their team win. Stiles listens to the roar nervously, his fingers playing with the bright yellow hornet that's on his jersey. Derek bumps his shoulder before shooting him a reassuring smile, and Stiles can't but smile back despite the blush that's working its way up his cheeks. Too embarrassed to maintain eye contact for any longer, Stiles turns back to Harris.

"Keep the ball away from number 4; he's got a mean jump shot," Harris advises. He pauses to look at Stiles, sending him a glare so tough that Stiles takes a step back in surprise. "And I want everyone to keep their temper in check."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but his mind is already replaying all the stuff Derek said to him in the car a few days ago. If Derek was right, then he needed to just stay calm for _one game_. The Beacon University coach was here, and there was no way he was walking off this court without grabbing his attention.

Harris claps his hands, eyeing Stiles and Derek, "We need this win boys," he continues clapping, amping the players up. "We're going down in history tonight. Five consecutive championships." He throws his fist into the middle of the circle. "Hornets on three!"

Stiles throws his hand in the circle with the rest of the team. His mind is still focusing on the Beacon University recruiter that's watching the basketball with disinterest. He needs that scholarship. He needs this coach to just notice him. Hell, he'll go the game without back-talking a single referee if that's what it takes.

He yells Hornets when the coach gets to three. He stands in his appropriate spot when the buzzers sounds and the game starts. He even manages to spend the first three quarters silently enduring every shitty call the ref has made.

The fourth quarter rolls around, and he's dripping with sweat as his eyes glance up at the scoreboard. There's only fifty more seconds in the game, and they're down by one point. Everything is fine. He can do this.

He passes the ball to Derek, who goes for the lay up. Stiles watches as the clock runs down and Derek approaches the basket, ignoring the defender in his way. He tosses the ball up just as he collides with the opposing player. Everyone's holding their breath, but the ball lands neatly in the net, and Stiles can't help but let out a whoop. His celebration is short lived, however, when the ref blows his whistle.

"No basket," he calls out, and Stiles can feel the air rushing out of his lungs. "Offensive foul. Number 4. Two Shots."

Stiles wants to go over to the ref and scream at him. I mean, was he blind? He starts to march over to the ref, but Derek is grabbing his arm to stop him.

"Let it go," Derek pleads. He's already dragging Stiles down with the rest of the players to the opposite end of the court. "You want to get recruited, right?"

Frowning, Stiles snatches his arm out of Derek's grip. He takes one last look at the ref before standing in his position under the basket. He places his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he eyes the scoreboard. There's only twenty seconds left, and they're still down by one. He glances at the kid who's holding the basketball. There's no way he's making his foul shots. 

He makes both of his foul shots.

Stiles frowns, as Boyd silently passes him the ball. The clock is ticking, and now they're  _three_ points behind. Stiles passes the ball to Derek then moves around his defender so that he can be open. The play is well rehearsed that the two of them could do it in their sleep. So it feels natural when Derek passes the ball back to him, and Stiles immediately shoots a clean three pointer. The buzzer sounds just as the ball lands hits the rim then bounces back to the ground. _  
_

The crowd roars, students rushing off the bleachers as Stiles struggles to blink back tears. This is wrong. This is all wrong. This couldn't have been how the game was supposed to end. He was supposed to make that shot. Any other time, he would've been able to _make the stupid shot_. Except this time he just couldn't do it and now, they lost the championship.

When he turns his head to the stands, the Beacon University coach is gone. Stiles takes a shaky breath, his eyes squeezing shut as the tears roll down his face. God, he couldn't shoot a three pointer. He couldn't get the attention of one college coach. What could he do?

A familiar pair of arms wrap around him, and Stiles cries harder, clinging onto Derek's jersey.

"It's OK," Derek's voice is low and soothing, and he doesn't even sound as upbeat as he normally does. "At least we made it to the championship game, right? You know how many teams are sitting at home tonight?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Yeah, but now, I'll never get recruited," Stiles mutters. "Ever since I was eleven, this was all that I wanted. How am I supposed to play pro ball when I can't even get a scholarship to a D1 school?"

"It'll be OK," Derek murmurs, not bothering to answer Stiles's question. He pulls himself away from Stiles, dragging the crying boy out of the crowd of screaming students. "Trust me on this. Everything will be OK."

 

Stiles sits in his room, awkwardly allowing Scott to tie his tie. He fidgets impatiently, groaning when Scott steps back to admire his handiwork. Jesus, did his brother have to be such a perfectionist?

"You should try and smile more," Scott suggests. He smooths down the front of Stiles's jacket as he talks. "Erica is in the living room, and she looks so stunning. Just try to act nicely."

Stiles scoffs. He knows how to behave in social settings, OK? "Yeah, yeah," he mumbles.

The two of them emerge from their room, earning a round of applause and even some tears from their parents. Melissa snaps a photo of them together before making them pose with their dates. She's grinning so hard that even Stiles can't help but smile in return.

When the four of them are about to leave, the Sheriff gives them the traditional don't drink and don't do anything dumb talk that he always does, and Stiles can't help but duck his head to hide his smile.

They get to the dance when it's already in full swing. Sexyback by Justin Timberlake is blasting out of the speakers, and Allison eagerly drags Scott onto the dance floor where they disappear into the mass of sweaty bodies. Erica smiles shyly at him, and he hesitantly offers to take her coat. She slides out of her coat easily, watching with amusement as Stiles stumbles over feet on his way to the coat check.

"I thought you would've been more graceful, considering the fact that you're a basketball player," Erica teases him.

Stiles shrugs, "I'm not too good a player."

"Are you kidding me?" Erica bumps Stiles's shoulder with hers. "You and Derek Hale are the best players at the school. The team is going to struggle without you."

Stiles smiles sheepishly. "They'll be alright." He mutters. He dumps Erica's coat into the kid's hands, too impatient to stick around for the ticket he's supposed to receive. Instead, he gently grabs Erica's elbow and leads her to the dance floor. "You want to dance?"

Before she can open her mouth, Kate Argent is there. She's grinning, her body practically shaking with excitement as she wastes no time in pulling Stiles into a hug. "You are a life saver," she smacks a wet kiss onto his cheek. "Thanks to you, Derek asked me to go to the dance with him."

As if on cue, Derek Hale saunters over. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his suit, and Stiles nearly does a double take just looking at him. He looks good - no, he looks _hot_. His hair is styled, and his lips are twisted into a casual smirk that he only wears when he knows he's looking good. Not to mention that he can still make out the well defined shape of Derek's muscles, that are hidden under his suit.

Stiles swoons.

"You look good," Derek notes, his eyes slowly making their way up and down Stiles's body. Stiles blushes under the attention, barely remembering to return the compliment. "I didn't think you were coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stiles's lips are already twisting into a frown. Leave it Derek to kill the mood.

"Nothing," Derek shakes his head. He at least has the decency to look a little chagrined. "You just never really show up to these sort of things."

Stiles is still frowning, and Erica, sensing his anger, tugs at his arm. "You want to dance, Stiles?"

Stiles nods his head. He offers Kate and Derek a bitter goodbye then allows Erica to tug him onto the dance floor. She smiles at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they bounce to the beat. He wraps an arm around her waist, trying to enjoy the feeling of finally having a girl pressed up against him, but he can't focus on anything except Derek. Did he have to be so surprised that Stiles has a date? It isn't like Stiles never had any interaction with girls -- or even some guys -- he just prefers to sit in his room and play video games. It isn't like that's a bad thing? Right?

Some time while they're dancing, the song changes to something slow and sweet, and Erica's resting her head on Stiles's shoulder. They rock together, slowly swaying to the beat of the music. As they turn, Stiles locks eyes with Derek. His breath whooshes out of him, and he's left breathless as Derek's green eyes remained glued to his. Unconsciously, Stiles's tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. Derek's eyes track the movement, the heat from gaze causing Stiles to flush. When Derek's gaze returns to his eyes, he's smiling.

 

Derek creeps around the side of his house, his tuxedo jacket dangling over his shoulder. It's too dark for him to see clearly, and he's struggling to figure out which window is his. Just as he's going to finally pick a window, a light turns on from the Stilinski house. Derek ignores the light, focusing on wrestling with the window, but a familiar laugh causes him to freeze.

"That isn't your window," Stiles's voice floats to him from the house next door.

Derek turns, smiling when he sees the Stilinski boy leaning out of his window. "How do you know which window is mine?"

"Because you always leave your light on until butt fuck o'clock," Stiles complains, laughing. "The light keeps me up."

Derek licks his lips, unable to stop himself from eyeing up Stiles. He's changed out of his suit, wearing a pair of old basketball sweats. Derek really thinks that Stiles shouldn't look so attractive when he's wearing sweat pants.

"Can you help me find my window?" Derek asks. He glances back at his dark house, hoping his mother doesn't hear him and come outside to investigate.

Stiles shrugs. "You seem like you're in a hurry," he leans against his windowsill. He chews on his lip thoughtfully for a moment and then, "Did Kate leave you _satisfied_?"

"What?" Derek narrows his eyes. "She's hot, but I wasn't really feeling like screwing her." There's a pause and then Derek can't help but ask, "Did you and Erica have a good time after the dance?"

"I guess," Stiles responds. "She kind of ditched me after I kept talking about basketball. Apparently, hearing about fast breaks and my shooting average doesn't get her panties wet."

Derek laughs. "I'm guessing you've been feeling better after the loss."

"Oh," Stiles jumps up, a grin plastered on his face. "You won't believe what happened." Stiles is practically vibrating with energy. He's smiling so hard that it looks like his face will crack at any moment. "I got into Beacon University. The coach really liked me, and she wants me to play for their team."

Derek grins, unable to help the feeling of pride that's rising in his chest. "Really?" He asks. He takes another glance at his dark house. "Hey, can we continue this conversation in your room. Unless, Scott is going to complain."

"Scott?' Stiles snorts as if Derek's statement is the most absurd thing he's heard all day. "Scott is spending the night in some sleazy motel with Allison. You can come in."

Derek wastes no time in climbing into Stiles's window. He takes his time looking around Stiles's room, smiling at the Magic Johnson posters that are taped onto his wall.

"I see you still idolize him, huh?" He points at the poster, causing Stiles to blush.

"Shut up," he mumbles.

Stiles sits on the edge of the bed, a slight blush settling on his cheeks. Derek watches him in fascination. He goes to sit next to Stiles, trying not to think of how they're legs are pressed together.

"I'm going to Beacon University too," Derek speaks quietly. "You think they can handle the two of us. We just might be-"

Derek's words are cut off by the feeling of Stiles's lips pressing against his. The kiss takes him by surprise, and he sits there, shocked by it all for a moment. His mind is moving a million miles a minute, trying to figure out what that was, and when Stiles tries to pull away, he leans forward to deepen the kiss. Stiles groans, his long fingers threading themselves in Derek's hair.

He can't help the way his heart rate rockets when he feels Stiles teeth nibble on his bottom lip. He pulls Stiles closer, laying them on the bed so that Stiles is settled underneath him. He can feel Stiles's legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in closer, and -- holy, God. Stiles was hard.

Derek breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Stiles's as his hand tugs at the waist band of Stiles's sweats. His mouth goes dry when he sees that Stiles isn't wearing any underwear. He hesitantly reaches for Stiles's dick, biting his lip when he sees the little dribble of precum. He watches in amazement as Stiles lets out a low whimper when his hand slowly glides up and down the shaft. He teases the head with his thumb, smearing the precum around and grinning when Stiles's hips jerk up.

"Fuck, Derek," Stiles's voice comes light and breathy, and the sound goes straight to Derek's dick.

He unzips his pants, nearly dying when Stiles's hand wraps around him. His eyes flutter closed, and he drops his head onto Stiles's neck as Stiles's hand moves faster. He supposes it should be weird that he's jacking off his teammate, but the only thing he can focus on is the way Stiles's hand feels on his dick.

It doesn't take too much longer for Stiles to orgasm. His cum lands all over his stomach, and Derek can't help but slide down Stiles's body to lap at him. Stiles's breath hitches, another curse falling out of his lips. He glances up at Stiles. His eyes are comically wide, and his lips are parted so beautifully as he watches Derek's tongue. Derek groans at the sight, his own orgasm rushing out of him.

"Wow," Stiles whispers. He tugs Derek's hair, pulling him up so that they're face-to-face.

Derek grins, his thumb lazily tracing circles onto Stiles's hip. "Yeah," he agrees. "Wow."


	3. Third Quarter -- 2007

Every muscle in Stiles's body aches. His lungs feels like they're on fire, and every breath he takes feels like it might be his last. Up ahead of him, the rest of the team powers forward as though they're unbothered by the fact that they have already run two and a half laps around the track. Stiles can feel Coach Kali's heavy stare weighing him down as he rounds the next curve.

She places both of her hands on her hips, her whistle loosely hanging from her lips as he passes her. She shakes her head, glancing down at her Beacon University clipboard to scribble something down. "Stilinski," she yells. "How can a point guard lead from the back?"

Stiles grits his teeth, fighting the urge to give her a sarcastic retort. He moves faster forcing himself to catch up with the team. Just as he's back in the middle of the pack, his energy dissipates and he falls back again. He doesn't have to look back to know that Coach Kali is shaking her head. He wants to yell at her and to scream that he's trying, god damn it. But he bites down the urge and just pushes himself to keep going.

After practice, Derek walks him back to his dorm room. He has one arm loosely wrapped around Stiles's shoulder, and Stiles can't help but grin when he notices a few envious glares being thrown his way. He might be a benchwarmer on the team, but at least his boyfriend has already managed to make the starting five.

"It feels like coach hates me," Stiles admits once they're finally tucked away inside Derek's empty dorm room.

Derek shrugs. He drops his gym bag off in a corner before peeling off his shirt. "I doubt it."

"Oh yeah," Stiles challenges. He kicks off his shoes then clambers onto Derek's small bed. "Then how come she's always yelling at me?"

"It's her job," Derek teases him.

"Easy for you to say," Stiles bumps his shoulder against Derek's. "You're just her favorite player."

Derek laughs. One of his hands wanders over to where Stiles is sitting, hesitantly dancing along the edge of his basketball shorts. "You're thinking too much about it."

"Really?" Stiles asks.

Derek nods his head, allowing his hand to leisurely drag itself up Stiles's thigh. His fingers keep moving over the tacky yellow of Stiles's basketball shorts until they reach the waistband.

Stiles looks up at Derek. "Maybe we should take my mind off of it."

Smiling, Derek leans in closer to press his lips against Stiles's. Like every time they kiss, Stiles's lips tingle and his heartbeat starts to quicken. He cups Derek's face desperate to deepen the kiss. He moans when he feels Derek's tongue slowly easing its way inside of his mouth. His entire body feels like it's on fire, and he can't help the sounds he makes when Derek's hand dips underneath his waistband of his shorts.

Stiles shudders when he feels Derek's hand tease him over the cotton material of his briefs. His hips jerk when Derek's thumb circles the head of his cock. He's already spurting precome, and he's moaning and gasping into Derek's mouth. Derek nips at his bottom lip, giving Stiles's dick a teasing tug before he slowly cups his balls. 

"Derek," Stiles whines. His hands are gripping Derek's shoulders so hard that he won't be surprised if they bruise.

Derek grins against Stiles's lips. His thumb soothingly runs over Stiles's aching cock. "Yes, Stiles?" He asks, his tone playful.

Stiles curses, his hips bucking when Derek's fingers wrap around his clothed dick. Stiles tilts his head back and Derek immediately attacks the exposed flesh. His tongue traces a path down to Stiles's Adam apple where his teeth begin to playfully nip at the skin. He sucks bruise after bruise onto Stiles's pale neck, loving the way his boyfriend squirms underneath him. He dips his hand under Stiles's too tight underwear, and Stiles groans when Derek's hand  _finally_ gets on his cock.

"Shit, Derek," Stiles pants.

Derek slides his hand down Stiles's dick moving slowly. He watches his boyfriend let out another moan when he brings his hand back up, pausing to run his thumb across the head. Stiles's hips are bucking wildly now, and he's trying to get more friction but Derek quickly pins his hips to the bed with his free arm.

"You're impatient," Derek teases. His breath fans out against Stiles's neck, causing the the hairs there to stand up. His finger has started to toy with Stiles's perineum. Occasionally, it'll catch against Stiles's hole, causing him to shudder. Derek allows his finger to linger the next time it catches, rubbing the pad of it against Stiles's hole. Derek presses another kiss to Stiles's lips as he slowly removes his hand from his boyfriend's pants, much to Stiles's disappointment.

"Take off your pants," Derek whispers, his voice sounding husky.

Stiles scrambles to do as Derek says his feet catching on the shorts in his haste to get them off. Once his shorts and briefs have been tossed onto Derek's floor, he peels his shirt off too.

Derek watches Stiles, silently, his own dick growing achingly hard. He palms himself, groaning when he sees Stiles lie down, his whole body on display.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Derek murmurs.

Stiles blushes, and Derek leans forward to kiss him. Their tongues meet with that same rush of electricity and Derek wastes no time in returning his hand to Stiles's crotch. He jacks his boyfriend off slowly, watching as Stiles comes undone. Stiles's back is arching off the bed as his hips chase Derek's hand, and amused, Derek just jerks him faster.

"You know you're so pretty like this," Derek coos, his hand still maintaining the rough pace. "All spread out and dying to come."

Stiles moans, his mouth hanging wide open as he watches Derek.

"Just look at you," Derek traces the curve of Stiles's lower lip with his free hand.

Still moaning, Stiles sucks in Derek's finger, his tongue running over the digit. Derek stares, transfixed by the sight of Stiles's cheeks hollowed out as he sucks his finger in deeper. Hesitantly, Derek adds a second finger, and Stiles greedily swallows that one down too. Derek pumps the two fingers in and out of his boyfriend's mouth. He moves them fast and rough, hitting the back of Stiles's throat with each thrust. Stiles groans around Derek's fingers, his eyes fluttering closed as his throat works around the two digits.

Derek's other hand moves from Stiles's dick to the rim of his asshole. He pushes the finger in, watching as Stiles's eyes fly open, a wanton moan falling from his lips. Derek pushes in past his knuckle grinning when he sees the beads of sweat forming on his boyfriend's forehead. He fingers Stiles relentlessly, easily finding his prostate.

Stiles squirms on the bed, his body moving to meet every thrust from Derek's finger. He can feel when Derek adds a second finger, and he burn feels so good that Stiles's whole body yearns for more. He whines around the fingers in his mouth, feeling flushed.

"You love this, don't you?" Derek teases, twisting the fingers that are buried in Stiles's ass. He grins when Stiles nods his head. 

Stiles gasps for air. His legs are starting to quiver and he can feel his orgasm starting to building. His toes start to curl, and he tosses his head back struggling to breath as he searches for his release. Tears are starting leak from his eyes, and he's desperate now, aching for an orgasm when he feels Derek's mouth wrap around the head of his dick.

Stiles comes so hard he swears that his heart stops. He lies there limp and boneless as Derek slowly pulls his fingers out of his ass while his tongue laps at Stiles's dick. Eventually, Derek starts to lick his way up Stiles's body, his tongue worshipping every one of Stiles's moles and even his nipples. When he finally gets to Stiles's mouth, he makes sure to kiss him nice and slow.

Stiles tugs Derek's shorts down as they kiss, his hand eagerly finding Derek's cock. He jacks Derek off slowly, loving the way Derek's hips roll into his fist.

When Derek comes, it's with a choked off cry, and he buries his face in Stiles's neck, his teeth clamping down on the skin. Stiles shivers beneath him, the feeling of Derek's blunt teeth being almost enough to get him hard again.

Stiles feels content; the entire incident from earlier forgotten in the haze of he and Derek's antics. He grins up at his boyfriend, linking their two hands together.

"Feeling better?" Derek asks.

Stiles nods. "Way better."

 

The next day at practice, Stiles feels energized. He's keeping up with the upperclassmen during the drills, and a few of them are starting to look at him with a little respect. When the team is getting water, Derek even shoots him a thumbs up.

"Okay boys," Kali flips through some papers on her clipboard. "We have our first home game tomorrow. It's expected to be a tough game, but I know we can win. Especially with our point guard, Ennis, leading us." A few of the upperclassmen pat Ennis on the back, and Stiles tries not to get too envious. "I want to see some scrimmaging today. Stilinski," she points at him, "at least try to play decent defense."

Ennis, ever the asshole, grins at Stiles. "Let's see if you can keep up, fresh meat."

Another upperclassmen, Deucalion, laughs. "Leave the freshman alone, Ennis."

"It's okay, D. Ennis knows that I can handle his lame ass." Stiles shoots back as he steps onto the court.

Off on the sideline, Coach Kali blows her whistle. Ennis dribbles the ball down the court, his eyes focused as Stiles defends him. The two of them move together, Ennis struggling to find an open teammate while Stiles continuously lunges for the ball. Eventually, Ennis manages to pass the ball to Ethan who easily shoots the lay up.

Stiles grits his teeth. He angrily pounds the ball against the wood floors as he makes his way up the court. Ennis, baring his teeth, waits for him at the half court line. Stiles immediately gets low, pushing himself to move faster. He skirts around Ennis going straight for the basket. When he shoots the ball, it lands straight in the net, and he can't help but shoot Ennis a cocky smile.

"How about the two of you put your dicks away and start running the plays I gave you?" Kali demands. "If you have a problem with that, there's a nice spot on the bench for you to warm."

Stiles purses his lips, but nods his head.

After the scrimmage, the team crowds the locker room, yelling and making jokes. Derek's laughing at something Aiden has said, while Ethan and Deucalion argue over which NBA team is going all the way. Stiles watches his teammates with amusement as he unties his shoes.

"But I'm serious," Aiden says, turning so that he can address the whole team. "We have  _two_  point guards on our team that can make endless shots. USC has what? A point guard who can maybe score a lay up or two." He smiles, pointing at Stiles. "Tell them Stilinski. There is no way we are losing."

Stiles laughs at Aiden's cocky attitude. "We're going to win tomorrow."

Ennis snorts from his position over in the corner. "You're talking like you're going to play," he taunts. "If you're lucky, you might get a minute of playing time."

"We're just trying to have some fun before tomorrow's big game," Derek interjects.

"Don't get mad at me because your boyfriend can't play."

Deucalion grabs Ennis's arm. "You need to chill," he hisses.

"Why?" Ennis laughs. He tugs his arm out of Deucalion's grip. He turns so that he can look at everyone who's in the locker room. "We all know that the only reason Stilinski is even at this school is because Danny got himself arrested."

Stiles feels his mouth go dry. He looks around at the team, wincing when no one dares to meet his eyes. So Ennis is telling the truth: he's just here because he got lucky.

"That was low, Ennis," Aiden is the first to break the silence. "He didn't need to hear all that."

Ennis shrugs, frowning when he looks at Stiles. "Somebody needed to put him in his place."

 

Stiles lies in bed beside Derek, his mind replaying the events from the locker room. Derek wraps a protective arm around him, pulling Stiles in so that he can rest on his chest.

"Forget about Danny," Derek says. He squeezes Stiles's shoulder. "Coach chose you for a reason. You're good Stiles. You just need to show coach that she needs you on this team."

"How?" Stiles whines. "I'm not like you. I don't have a parent in the NBA; nobody here is worshipping me."

Derek sighs. "Who the hell is worshipping me?"

Stiles fixes Derek with a look. "You have girls and guys all over this campus dying to just touch you," Stiles complains. "Oh, Derek. He's so beautiful. He's such a great player."

"Well, they aren't wrong," Derek teases. He grins at Stiles, a devious look settling over his features. Stiles already knows that his boyfriend is up to no good. "You wanna play?"

"Play what? Basketball?" Stiles looks around the small dorm room. "Here?"

Derek stands up, grabbing a kid's size basketball from his desk. He walks over to the door to set up the small hoop it came with, making sure to switch the lock. "We can play a little one-on-one."

Stiles grins. He takes a moment to look his boyfriend up and down. "What are we playing for? Money?"

"Clothes," Derek tosses Stiles the ball before stalking over. His walk is downright predatory, his gaze lingering on Stiles's lips. Stiles can feel his heart hammering in his chest by the time Derek finally gets to him. "If I score, you take off something. If you score, I take off something."

"Okay," Stiles passes the ball back to Derek. "Let's play."

Derek gets low, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he eyes his boyfriend. He slowly takes a step forward, testing the water, then he charges. Stiles struggles to keep up, watching in dismay as Derek sinks the ball into the small hoop. Derek grins when he turns back to face Stiles, gesturing for him to take off some clothes.

"Alright," Stiles peels off his socks, his movements over exaggerated. "I was just going easy on you."

Laughing, Derek returns back to the far side of the room. "Of course you were, baby," he coos.

Derek goes for the basket again. Stiles, anticipating Derek's move, tries to block him, but Derek is already dancing out of the way easily scoring for a second time. This time, Stiles doesn't smile when he peels off his shirt. He plans on winning this game.

The third time Derek goes to shoot, Stiles reaches out, cupping his dick through his shorts. Derek freezes, and Stiles snatches the ball out of his hands before tossing it into the basket.

Derek pouts, looking only a little offended, "What was that?"

"All is fair in love and basketball," Stiles teases.

Derek, already barefoot, tugs his shirt off. Stiles takes a moment to admire the view, shamelessly eyeing his boyfriend's happy trail.

After deciding he's looked at Derek for long enough, Stiles makes another move for the basket. Derek plays rough, shoving up against Stiles, and swatting at his arms. They knock hips and elbows, both of them trying to get the upper hand. Despite Derek's playing, Stiles scores the next two shots easily, grinning when Derek has to shimmy out of his remaining clothes.

"Not too fast," Stiles licks his lips. "I like a show."

Derek pushes up against Stiles, pinning him to the door. "I think you talk a little bit too much," Derek murmurs. He brings his hands up to Stiles's face, cupping his boyfriend's jaw. "I think we need to find another way to occupy your mouth."

Stiles grins. "Oh really?"

He shoves Derek back a step then sinks to his knees. Derek, already hard, curses when he sees Stiles looking up at Derek through his long eyelashes. Stiles's tongue darts out to lap at Derek's slit, and he groans, threading his fingers through Stiles's hair. Stiles hums, circling the head with his tongue. He dips lower to mouth at Derek's balls while his hand slowly pumps Derek's cock. He can hear Derek groaning, and he grins bringing his lips back to the tip. He glances up at Derek making sure to make eye contact before he takes him in his mouth.

Derek hisses. His grip on Stiles's hair tightens as he feels Stiles take him deeper and deeper. By the time Stiles has taken him all the way in his mouth, they're both panting. Stiles is sucking in huge gulps of air through his nose while Derek struggles to catch his breath.

"Your mouth is amazing," Derek groans. He gives an experimental thrust, damn near biting his tongue off when his dick hits the back of Stiles's throat.

Stiles moans appreciatively. He palms himself through his shorts, unable to help the sounds coming from him. Derek tugs on hair with each thrust, and it's driving him wild. He swallows around Derek's dick, and Derek thrusts harder in response.

"Fuck," Derek tugs on Stiles's hair, forcing him to look up. "You were made for this."

Stiles wraps a hand around himself. He jerks himself off at the same relentless pace that Derek is going. Derek, sadly, is unable to keep up. His hips start to stutter as his orgasm builds and he tosses his head back, his fingers roughly pulling at Stiles. Derek comes quickly, shooting down Stiles's throat. Stiles comes right after Derek, his own spunk hitting him in the chest and the bottom of his chin. He pulls away, smiling sheepishly when he looks down at himself.

"You have a wash cloth?" Stiles asks. He pulls himself up to his feet, his forefinger lazily scooping up a small amount of cum.

Derek nods his head, leaning forward so he can suck Stiles's finger clean. "I'd rather clean you up myself," he admits once he's released Stiles's finger.

"What're you waiting for?"  


The crowd cheers as the teams line up to shake hands. A reporter eagerly pulls Derek and Ennis aside, leaving Stiles alone. He supposes he should be happy considering that Beacon University beat USC by a solid 15 points, but he feels like he barely contributed to the game. He sat on the bench for the first three quarters and only got to play once there was only four minutes left on the clock. Although, Stiles has to admit, that's four minutes more than Greenberg played.

"Why the long face?" Ethan asks, yelling over the roar of the crowd.

"We won, didn't we?" Aiden asks.

Ethan grins, "85 to 70. We kicked their asses."

Stiles ducks his head. "Wish I got more playing time," he admits.

"Aw," Ethan pinches Stiles's cheeks. He laughs when the younger player attempts to swat him away.

"You're a freshman; it's the first game of the season," Aiden reassures him. "You'll get your chance."

Stiles nods his head, sending one last look over his shoulder at Derek before he trudges back to the locker. He stops on the way to say hello to Mr. Hale. He didn't even recognize the older man, and come to think of it, he couldn't even remember the last time he saw him in person.

"It's nice to see you Stiles," Mr. Hale greets him warmly. "You were great out there."

Smiling awkwardly, Stiles nods. "I guess; I didn't get to play too much," he glances back at Derek who's still talking to the reporter. "You must be proud of Derek. He scored like 20 points and only missed about three free throws."

"Yeah," Mr. Hale grins. "Hopefully, it doesn't go to his head. Hey, are your parents here? I haven't spoke to the sheriff or to Melissa in a while."

"They had work," Stiles offers weakly. "I uh have to go. Bye."

Stiles darts off into the locker room, leaving Mr. Hale alone. The man shakes his head before striding over to his son. He watches Derek finish his interview, and then he proudly wraps him in a hug.

"Dad," his son melts into his embrace. "I haven't seen you in months. How was Philly?"

Mr. Hale smiles. "It was busy. Met a lot of interesting people. I've seen you tightened up your game."

"Yeah, me and Stiles practiced together over the summer," Derek offers.

The two men start to walk towards the locker room. When they reach the door, Mr. Hale rests his hand on his son's shoulder. He gives Derek a comforting squeeze and then, "Remember to take your education seriously as well."

"Because you took your education so seriously when you were in college," Derek shoots back. He takes a step back folding his arms across his chest defensively.

Mr. Hale sighs, wishing his son didn't have such a temper. "I dropped out to go to the NBA, but I wish I stayed in college for those last few years. I missed out on a quality education; I don't want-"

"You know what dad," Derek interjects. "I get it. I'm staying in school until I graduate  _then_  I'll consider the NBA." He pauses. "Will I see you at the game tomorrow?"

"I wish, son. I have to get to New York by tomorrow morning; I actually just came here to tell you something."

Derek perks up. "What's up?"

Mr. Hale looks down at his feet. "There's a woman," he starts. "She's pregnant."

"So?"

"She says the baby is mine."

Derek stares dumbstruck. "She's lying," he shakes his head. "She's lying, right? You love mom. Plus we have enough damn kids in our house."

"Watch your mouth," Mr. Hale scolds him half heartedly. "Anyways, it doesn't matter that it isn't my kid. My lawyer says we want to squash the story as soon as possible. I'm just going to pay her a settlement and hope the media doesn't find out."

Derek nods too shocked to say anything else. "I got to get going. I told Stiles we would go out for food," the excuse is weak, but Mr. Hale doesn't call his son out on it. Instead he waves goodbye as Derek ducks into the locker room.

 

The next game goes just as well as the first. Or it starts out as well as the first game. Halfway into the first quarter, Ennis is coming down from a lay up when a defender takes him out. The whole stadium falls silent as Ennis smacks the ground, his ankle twisting. Stiles has barely processed what's happened, and Coach Kali is already yanking him off the bench and throwing him onto the floor.

 

After the game, the team takes Stiles out for drinks, cheering and whooping the entire time. Stiles smiles, laughing when the twins buy him a beer. "You don't have to do that," Stiles protests.

"It's our treat. You practically won us that game," Ethan insists. He shoves the drink at Stiles too drunk to care when some of the liquid sloshes over the rim and soaks his shoes.

"Yeah, freshman," Aiden adds. "You earned yourself a spot on the starting lineup."

Stiles laughs. "I guess I did." Stiles's laughter dies down when he sees Ennis limping towards him. He stiffens in his chair, awkwardly holding onto his beer bottle. Beside him the twins continue joking as if they don't notice the injured basketball player heading their way.

"Can I talk to you?" Ennis asks, the words sounding more like a command.

Stiles nods. "Yeah, sure."

The two make their way through the crowded bar until they wind up outside. Stiles folds his arms across his chest, hoping Ennis won't pick up on his nerves.

"Stop looking like that," Ennis says. He sounds tired, and that makes Stiles stand a little bit taller. "I'm not here to fight you. Even if I wanted to fight you, I'm pretty sure my messed up ankle would prevent me from giving you a good ass kicking."

Stiles looks down at his feet awkwardly. "So what are we out here for? I was kind of expecting you to punch me in the face."

Ennis laughs. "I wanted to say good game, and I wanted to give you some advice."

"Really?" Stiles smiles. "What's the advice?"

"Next year, don't let a freshman take your spot."

 

Derek steps into his house, kicking his shoes off at the door. He tosses his jacket off to the side before making his way to the kitchen. Cora and Laura stand by the counter whispering in harsh tones. They look as though they're arguing over something, and Derek lingers in doorway unsure about whether or not he can enter. Laura catches sight of him, and she smiles, although it looks more like a grimace. Seeing that her sister's attention has shifted, Cora turns, grinning enthusiastically when spotting Derek.

"What are you doing home?" Laura asks. "Thought there was a game tonight."

"There was," Derek shoves his hands in his pockets. He takes a hesitant step forward.

"How did it go?"

"We won," he shrugs. "Stiles got to play. He made the starting five, and the team took him out to celebrate. I figured I'd let him have his moment."

Laura, still looking uneasy, forces another smile. She goes to the cabinet, snatching a bottle of whiskey. "So you and Stiles are still doing alright?"

"Laura, stop okay," Cora interjects. She elbows her older sister in the ribs uncaring when the action causes Laura's drink to spill.

Derek watches the liquid swish around in the glass, wondering if it'd be inappropriate if he too had a glass. He can tell Laura's bothered by something, and he wants nothing more than to make her tell him what's wrong.

"Did you hear the news?" Cora asks when Laura turns her attention to the liquor. "Dad got some woman pregnant. We're going to have a little brother."

Derek laughs. He feels relieved all of a sudden. At first, he was worried that something was wrong with Laura. That maybe she had gotten hurt, but finding out that they were just concerned about that stupid rumor makes him relax. "Oh, that," Derek waves his hand to dismiss it. "What about it?"

"What do you mean?" Laura hisses. "God, you're such a fucking child." She turns so that she doesn't have to see him. Evidently, she's sick of his presence.

Derek frowns, "What? That's just a stupid rumor," he shrugs his shoulders still unbothered. "You're a child if you believe that random woman over our father."

Cora looks at Derek in shock and disappointment. "Derek, do you-do you not know?"

"Obviously, I know," Derek explodes. He's angry that his sisters can't even trust their own dad. That they'd rather trust in some woman they've never met who's probably just desperate for a few dollars. "I know that someone is trying to con dad out of his money, and that you guys are stupid enough to fall for the lie. Dad loves mom, okay? He isn't going to cheat on her."

"You stupid little boy," Laura spits.

Derek is about to round on her too, but Cora quickly stops him. "Mom is in her room resting. Can you go see if she's okay? She'll love to see you right now."

Derek nods his head, angrily walking out of the kitchen. When he pushes his way into his parents' dark bedroom, the anger dissipates. His mother, lies curled on the bed, sniffling. He was so concerned about his father that he didn't think about how his mother would be handling the news. Guilt claws its way up his chest, and he moves to sit on the foot of her bed.

"Derek," Talia squints in the darkness to see him. "Oh, baby. You didn't need to come home."

"I wanted to," Derek murmurs. He leans across his mother to turn on the light, frowning when he gets a clear view of her.

Her hair is disheveled and her eyes are red from all the crying. He soothingly smiles at her.

"You're too sweet," she mumbles. She sniffs again, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Your father used to rub my feet when I was pregnant. We would sit and discuss baby names, and ideas for the nursery." She pauses. "Sometimes I wonder if he's doing that with his mistress."

"What?" Derek narrows his eyes. "Mom, c'mon. Dad loves you. He would never-"

"Except he did, and now, he's gotten the poor woman pregnant," Talia snorts bitterly.

"Mom-"

"What?" She explodes. She sits up angrily, her lips set in a firm line. "Do you think that I wasn't like you? That I didn't believe his lies?" She laughs, her breaths coming out hysterical. "I had to hire a P.I."

Derek watches, frozen with dread as his mother digs around her nightstand. She pulls out a manila envelope, carelessly tossing it at him. He doesn't move to catch it, and when it lands on the bed a few pictures spill out. Unable to help himself, he looks at them, bile creeping up his throat when he notices that the photos are all of his father and some woman in a hotel room. Shocked, Derek grabs one of the photos. He stares down at the man in the photo hoping that this is a misunderstanding. His father would never cheat on his mom. His father  _loves_  his mom.

"I have to go," Derek mumbles.

Talia reaches out to stop her son, but he dances out of her grip, fleeing from the room. When he walks back through the kitchen, Laura and Cora are still there whispering to each other. Laura stops when she sees him, a look sympathy flashing across her features before she turns back to the bottle. Cora is the only one who says something.

"Derek, don't go," she pleads.

He ignores her.

 

Stiles walks across campus, shoving his hands under his armpits to keep them warm. It has to be two in the morning, and he's still a little too tipsy from his time at the bar with the team. It's taking him twice as long as usual to make this walk, each step feeling harder than the last. He wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm room and curl up under the blankets, but Derek had texted him half an hour ago asking to meet up. Initially, he considered ignoring the text. He would've texted Derek back in the morning apologizing and saying that he was already asleep, but something about the message seemed urgent.

Cautiously, Stiles approaches the gym. He pushes through the large double doors, shivering when he notices all the lights are out. On the opposite side of the small practice court, Derek sits on the bleachers, nursing a bottle of Jack.

"What's up, Derek?" Stiles bumps his knee against Derek's as he settles into the space beside him.

Derek shrugs. "I'm just thinking, y'know? It's important to take time and just contemplate," he points the bottle at Stiles, smiling drunkenly. "You look like you could use some time to contemplate."

Stiles eyes his boyfriend warily, already sobering up. "Maybe you should put down the bottle."

"Fuck that."

"Well, if you won't put the fucking bottle down then at least tell me what's wrong," Stiles begs. "You were fine when you left to go home earlier tonight. What happened?"

Derek laughs. "What happened? My dad's a fucking cheater. That's what happened." He takes a swig from the bottle, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. "He got some woman pregnant, and then he had the fucking audacity to just lie to my face. I spent my whole life looking up to him, defending him, worshipping him. I wanted to be the exact same man as him. But now, I fucking know better.

"Did you know I tried to defend him against my own mother? That's fucking insane. I actually was getting angry at my sisters and my mom, trying to shame them for turning their backs on him when he's the one who turned his back on us." Derek shakes his head, tears starting to overflow. "I'm such an idiot."

Stiles stands there for a moment, shocked. He had spent the night out partying with the team while Derek was forced to deal with all of this. He should've been there for Derek; Derek should've had someone to turn to.

"You aren't stupid," Stiles responds. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend, letting Derek rest his head on his chest. "Everyone idolizes their parent. How were you supposed to know."

"I should've known. God, I should've known."

"Derek-"

"I mean, fuck," Derek yells over Stiles. "All the signs were there. He spent so many nights away from home; he always had some destination he needed to go to. He was always putting his mistress's needs over his family."

Stiles grabs Derek's arm. "You need to calm down. You're drunk, and you're angry."

"I'm fine," Derek laughs. He snatches his arm out of Stiles's grasp. "I'm perfectly fine on my own. What's the worst that can happen? There's already one screw up in the family. Why not bump that number up to two?" Derek swings his arm dramatically, almost catching Stiles in the face.

Stiles scoots back, his eyes wide as he watches Derek stagger to his feet. He tries not to flinch when Derek stumbles towards him, and he holds his hands out to put more space between them. "Derek, put the fucking bottle down."

"Why?" Derek spits. He takes another large sip to taunt Stiles. His eyes are filled with anger, and Stiles shakes under the weight of his stare. "Scared I'm going to end up like your father?"

Stiles freezes. "You don't know what you're talking about," his voice wavers, and Derek moves towards him, forcing him to take another step back.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Derek hisses. "Weren't you the one who told me about the Sheriff's little drinking problem? About how one time he just flipped and Melissa took you and Scott to live in a hotel for a month when you were five? That sometimes you just worry about him?" Derek huffs, eyeing Stiles coldly. "I guess we both have fuck up dads, now."

Stiles blinks already feeling the tears start to run down his face. When he told Derek all those things, he thought he could trust him. He didn't think that Derek would throw it back in his face like this.

"You're really drunk right now, and you're angry too," Stiles starts, his voice shaking. "So I'm going to let you work through this, and maybe we can talk in the morning."

He turns not listening when Derek calls his name. He can't stand to look at him right now. Not while he's drunk and lashing out.

 

Derek wanders around the house party, numbly searching for a spot to settle in. He just played the worst game of his life. He missed every single one of his shots, and he ended up getting benched about halfway through the game. Meanwhile, Stiles was playing better than ever. The commentators at the game were all over him, hyping him up every time he even looked at the ball. It didn't help that they pulled him aside for the post game interview instead of Derek.

"Hey, D," Isaac calls him over from his spot on a dingy sofa. He had his arm loosely wrapped around a familiar looking girl with dark hair. "Come over here and meet my new girl."

Derek walks over, "What's up?"

"Nothing much. I wanted you to meet Allison," he gestures to the girl.

Derek studies her for a moment before he recognizes her, "You're Allison Argent, Kate's cousin. I thought you were dating Scott."

"We were, but things didn't work out," Allison offers. She looks a little upset about Scott, but a quick kiss from Isaac brings her smile back.

"That's a shame," he replies. "Hey, is your cousin here?"

Allison looks confused by the question. "Yeah, but I thought you were dating Stiles."

"We are," Derek flashes her a grin, aiming to ease her worries. "I just wanted to say hi," he adds, "for old times' sake."

 

By the time the rest of the basketball team arrives at the party, it's already in full swing. The music blares through the speakers so loud that Stiles can feel the bass in his bones. Dancers are crammed in the overstuffed living room grinding on each other, and a few people boldly stand on the furniture, their bodies twisting in what Stiles assumes are supposed to be "sexy" dance moves.

Ethan and Aiden, pumped for the party, dive onto the dance floor, tugging an exasperated Deucalion along with them. Stiles moves to follow them, but he sees a familiar tuft of curly hair over on the far side of the room. Stiles makes his way over, grinning when he gets within eyeshot.

"Isaac," Stiles yells. "Is that you? Man, I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"

Isaac, already drunk, grins, "I'm good. I'm here with Allison."

"Oh," Stiles raises an eyebrow. Isaac and Allison are a thing now? "That's cool."

"Man, I can't wait until I see Derek. He said you weren't going to be here."

Stiles narrows his eyes. _Derek?_ After the game, he said he was going straight to his room to study. He didn't mention that he was going to a house party. "Derek is here?"

"Oh, yeah," Isaac nods his head. "He and Kate are upstairs. He said something about old times' sake- Hey, where are you going?"

Stiles pushes his way through the crowded room, ignoring the protests when he shoves someone a little too roughly. He makes it to the stairs in record time, anger clouding his vision. After all the shit he and Derek have been through, Derek was just going to lie to him so he could run off to meet Kate? How could he? Stiles barges into room after room, murmuring half hearted apologies whenever he stumbles across a couple. As he works his way further down the hall, he manages to calm himself down. Maybe Isaac was wrong. Shit, the poor kid was already drunk out of his mind. He probably just misheard-

Stiles opens the last door, freezing when he peers inside. Derek lies, hunched over Kate, her legs thrown over his shoulders as he mindlessly thrusts into her. She's tugging at the covers, her back arching as she screams profanity. Stiles can see Derek bending over to whisper something in her ear, his hips rolling in more controlled thrusts.

Stiles pictures himself screaming and yelling. He sees himself clawing Derek's eyes out before rounding on Kate. He can even imagine the faces of the team, backing him up as he shouts insult after insult.

Instead of doing any of those things, he just whispers, "Derek?"

At first, he thinks his boyfriend doesn't hear him, but then he sees Derek's shoulders tense for a moment. Kate, sensing the tension, has stopped yelling, and she stares at Stiles with her lips twisted in a satisfied smirk. Derek slowly pulls out of her, giving Stiles a head nod.

"Hey," Derek mutters. He snatches his jeans off the floor, easily sliding into them.

Stiles watches his boyfriend in disbelief. He just got caught fucking another woman, and he's acting as if he hasn't done anything wrong. "What's going on?"

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?" He turns back to Kate, trying to hide his laughter. "What did it look like?"

Stiles struggles to swallow. He blinks back the tears willing himself to not give Derek the satisfaction of seeing him break. "So I'm guessing you don't care about us anymore?"

"Look, Stiles," Derek runs a hand through his hair. He glances back at Kate who's reapplying some lip gloss. "Let me walk you back to your dorm. We can talk in private, okay?"

Stiles nods his head. He wishes he could say something, anything, that would make Derek feel an ounce of the pain that he feels. He opens his mouth to curse and scream and fight, but he just says, "okay."

The two of them make their way through the house quietly. The team, starts to approach them, but Ennis takes one look at Stiles's face, red and puffy from crying, and he herds them over to the other side of the room.

Once, they're outside, Derek starts talking, "Kate's grandfather owns the Lakers. She says he's impressed by me, and he can get me a position on the team. I won't be starting or anything, but it's a good place to get me the fundamentals."

Stiles blinks.

"They want me to start playing next season. I'm going to do the training camp this summer," he pauses to look at Stiles. "Look, I'm moving on to the next part of my life, and right now, that part doesn't involve you."

"So what?" Stiles whispers. He turns to look at Derek, his eyes filled with tears. "I'm not good enough anymore?" His voice cracks on the last word, and Derek tugs him in for a hug. Stiles sobs when he feels Derek's arms wrap around him; he knows what's happening. He knows that this is their goodbye.

"You're always good enough," Derek murmurs. "Sometimes you're too good. But I can't handle all this anymore; I need a clean break," he drops his arms, and Stiles tries to ignore how empty he feels.

Stiles feels more tears spill over. They blur his vision, making Derek look like a blob of colors, and Stiles can't decide whether its better or worse now that he can't see Derek clearly anymore. "But I love you," he cries. "I've fucking loved you for so long, and this is ridiculous because I know you love me."

"I know," Derek groans. He turns so he doesn't have to look at Stiles. "I love you too. That's why I can't do this. I'm fucked up; you don't need me in your life right now."

"That's bullshit," Stiles screams. He attracts the attention of a few stragglers, making their way towards the party, but he's too heartbroken to care. "I need you. I've always needed you. Maybe you don't need me, but fuck, Derek," he releases another sob. "Don't do this."

Derek cups Stiles's face in his hands. "We can still be friends."

Stiles recoils, his body jerking as if he's just been slapped. "Friends?" he spits. He shakes his head. "After everything, you think we can just be friends." He shoves Derek, satisfied when stumbles backwards. "Fuck you. Fuck you, Derek." He turns to leave, angrily wiping his face.

"Stiles," Derek yells after him. "Stiles. Stiles."

Stiles walks faster, trying to act as though his heart hasn't been shattered.

 

Melissa grins when she sees him. She's still wearing her blue scrubs, so he knows she just got off from a shift at the hospital. His father's police cruiser isn't parked in the driveway, and for once, Stiles is glad that John is working a morning shift.

"You missed Scott by half an hour," Melissa notes. She stands so that she can wrap her arms around Stiles, her hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Stiles shrugs. "I didn't want to see Scott. I just need my mom right now."

Melissa hums, motherly concern oozing from her. "What's wrong? _Niño_ , what happened?"

Hearing Melissa's voice, snaps something in Stiles. That indifferent attitude he had been wearing for the past week slides right off of him, and he fists his hands in her scrubs, sobs wracking his body. 

"He left me," Stiles admits, through his tears. "I wasn't good enough, mom. He just left me." He sobs again. "Why wasn't I good enough?"

"Oh, _n_ _iño_ ," She whispers. "It's okay. I know it hurts right now, but it's okay. It'll be okay."

Stiles shakes his head. Snot runs down his nose, and he knows its getting all over Melissa's shirt but he can't bring himself to care. Right now, he just wants to soak up her attention. He just wants to feel loved again.


	4. Fourth Quarter -- 2012

Stiles exits the airport arm-in-arm with his brother, grinning so hard that he's concerned his face will split. He playfully bumps his shoulder against Scott's, laughing when it turns into a full blown shoving match.

"God, why did I even bother picking you up from the airport?" Scott teases, his tone light and playful. He wraps an arm around his brother's shoulders. "I should've just let you get a cab home."

Stiles laughs. "Oh please. You know you missed me."

Scott nods, growing serious. "I did miss you. If plane tickets weren't so expensive, I would've probably flew out to visit you."

"And then you would've spent the entire time whining about how you miss Kira," Stiles teases. Scott shoves him.

By the time they make it to Scott's car, the two of them are laughing so hard that tears are forming in their eyes. Scott's girlfriend, Kira, stands by the passenger door, watching them approach. Stiles can tell from her demeanor that she's a sweet girl, and he can't help but feel amazed that Scott has managed to score an awesome girlfriend.

"Hey, baby," Scott greets her warmly, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "This is my brother, Stiles."

Kira smiles shyly at Stiles. "It's nice to meet you." Her voice sounds timid almost as if she's fearful of him.

Offering her a friendly grin, Stiles sticks his hand out. "It's nice meeting you too. Especially, since I can finally put a face to the name. Scott cannot shut up about you."

Embarrassed, Scott shoves Stiles again while Kira blushes. "To be fair," she offers, "I'm sure my friends would say the same about me."

Scott turns to his girlfriend a dopey grin making its way onto his face. Kira returns his smile eagerly, her hands finding their way to his hips. Stiles watches the exchange sadly. There's a familiar ache in his chest as he watches them, and he turns his head so he doesn't intrude on their moment. It's been so long since someone has held him like that. He's had his fair share of one night stands and quick flings, but there hasn't been anything  _real._ At least, there hasn't been anything real since-

"Hey, are you guys done swapping spit?" Stiles jokes, hoping nobody notices how awkward he suddenly feels. "I really want to take a nap."

Scott nods his head. "Yeah, are you staying with mom and dad? You can always crash at my apartment," Scott offers.

Stiles smiles at his brother's kindness, but shakes his head. "No offense, but I don't want to be surrounded by the Scott and Kira show."

Kira blushes so hard that Stiles worries she might permanently turn red.

"In that case, we better get you home," Scott replies, unbothered by Stiles's comment. "Mom says she's making this huge family dinner."

 

Stiles steps in his house for the first time in over a year, and he sighs at the smells of Melissa's cooking. He stands in the doorway for a moment letting the smells wash over him. He can feel the tension seeping out of his bones, leaving him breathless. He hasn't felt this relaxed in a while, and he wonders how he survived this long without Melissa's home cooked meals. He feels as though the air has been knocked out of him when he finally wanders into the kitchen to see her. Her curly hair is [ulled into a bun as she works, her face concentrated on chopping the vegetables. He opens his mouth to say something, but the sound catches.

Scott, carrying Stiles's bag, pushes his way past his brother and confidently strides to his mother. Stiles watches as Scott gives Melissa a quick peck on the cheek, "Hey, mom."

Melissa shakes her head, "¿Scott, _qué pasa_? You look so energetic today."

"I'm always energetic," Scott responds. He starts bouncing on his toes as if to prove a point. "I brought you a gift today."

"A gift?"

Scott jerks his head in Stiles's direction. Melissa turns; her look of confusion morphs into one of shock when she notices her other son standing there. She gasps, the utensils in her hand clattering onto the table.

"Hey," Stiles greets her. His voice sounds rough, and he knows that he's on the brink of tears. "I missed you."

Melissa rushes forward, gathering him in her arms. She squeezes him so tight that he worries that his ribs will crack, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around her, hugging her just as tight. He missed this.

"I'm so glad you came home," Melissa pulls back to give him a once over. "You've been okay in Spain? Your Spanish wasn't too rusty was it? I knew I should've been speaking Spanish to you while you were growing up. I hope that-"

"Mom," Stiles cuts her off before she can go any further. " _Spain was fine, and I'm practically fluent_ _,"_ he responds in Spanish to reassure her.

Melissa smiles. "I know. I just worry about you. You're living in Spain."

"He was living in Spain," Scott interjects.

Melissa looks at Scott then turns back to Stiles. "What is he talking about?"

"Well, I only had a year long contract with the basketball team in Spain. It ran out a few weeks ago, and I decided to come home instead of renew it," Stiles shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea."

Melissa grins. "It's a great idea. Now, go get cleaned up; dinner will be ready soon."

 

Derek dribbles the ball down the court. He's confident and relaxed. He can see a few of his teammates up ahead, and he passes the ball to the nearest one before cutting to the basket. His teammate has barely gotten his hands on the ball before he's passing it back to Derek for the easy lay up. The ball lands nice and easy in the rim, and the crowd goes wild. Derek jogs back down the court, buzzing from the energy. The high doesn't last for long. Soon, he's crouching low to defend an opposing team's player.

The game passes quickly, the players working hard to score baskets and defend the ball.

Derek's playing a pretty decent game; he's  made about half of his shots, and he's moving so fast that nobody can guard him. By the time the fourth quarter arrives, he's on a roll. He manages to steal the ball away from an opposing team member, and he shoots down the court. He focuses in on the basket, skirting out of the way of a few defenders. By the time he reaches half court, there's nobody guarding him. It's just open court.

Feeling confident, Derek pushes himself faster, leaping into the air to dunk the ball. The ball goes crashing through the net and lands hard against the wood floors. The stadium erupts in cheers and screams, and Derek hangs from the rim for a moment drunk off the feeling. He lets go of the rim, and he braces himself for the impact of landing on the floor. When he lands, he feels his knee buckle. and he staggers a little, his leg feeling as though it's bending backwards. He tries to catch himself, but he still goes crashing to the floor.

The next few moments are a blur. The stadium goes quiet. He can feel strong hands move him onto a gurney. Eventually, he ends up in a hospital, and there are doctors saying strange things and nurses whispering, "You'll be alright."

When Derek wakes up, he's aware of a dull ache from his knee. He opens his eyes, squinting in the harsh light. Off to the side, someone gasps, and a warm hand envelops his own.

"Derek," his mother's voice reaches his ears. "Derek, are you awake?"

He turns his head to look at his mom. She has dark rings under her eyes, and she looks as though she hasn't gotten any sleep. Her voice cracks when she talks, giving Derek the urge to comfort her.

"Yeah," he nods his head. "What happened?"

"You tore your ACL," Talia explains. She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. "You'll be fine. Eventually, you'll be able to go back on the court."

Derek laughs. If he were a few years younger, then he'd be eager to return to the gym. He'd already have a training regimen planned out, and he'd be looking up the best personal trainers in Beacon Hills.

Just the thought of going to the gym leaves him feeling drained. Any excitement that he once had has burned out him, leaving him hollow. He thinks about telling his mom that he might just retire from the game, but something stops him.

"That's good," Derek responds. He flashes his mom a smile. "I have to see if the boys on the team know anybody who's a good physical therapist."

Derek hears the door open, and he turns his attention to it, frowning when recognizes the figure.

"How are you doing, son?" His father steps into the room with a bouquet of flowers and a cheap card in his hands. He stands there awkwardly, as if waiting for Derek to speak.

Talia breaks the silence. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit my son in the hospital," Mr. Hale retorts hotly. He gestures to Derek with the flowers. "Am I no longer allowed to see my son?"

Talia looks over at her son with concern. Derek can tell that his father is the last person on Earth that she wants to see. He considers telling Mr. Hale to just leave, but something in his dad's eyes makes him falter. Swallowing thickly, he returns his attention to his mother.

"Can you get me something from the vending machine? My wallet should be on the table," Derek asks.

"Oh," Talia looks between her ex-husband and her son. She doesn't want to leave Derek alone with him, but she rises from her seat anyways. "I'll pay for it, Derek. You want some chips?"

"Please."

Talia snatches her purse from the bedside table. She shoots one last glare to Mr. Hale then she darts out of the room.

There's a brief moment of silence that follows his mother's departure. Derek takes the moment to size up his father. He looks as though he hasn't aged. He stands confidently in the room, wordlessly commanding Derek's attention. Everything about him screams power. From his silk shirt to his pressed, black pants to the Armani shoes that rest on his feet. There was a time when Derek would take in father's appearance and feel nothing but pride. Now, Derek thinks his father looks like a pretentious asshole.

"It's nice seeing you again, son," Mr. Hale begins warmly. He crosses the room to place the flowers and card on Derek's table. He moves to place a hand on his son's shoulder, but stops when he notices Derek flinch. "You've grown up since your freshman year of college."

Derek shrugs. "Well, it has been five years," he responds coldly.

Mr. Hale nods. He digests this information. "You know I've been calling you. I've left you some messages, and-"

"Dad," Derek interrupts him. "Save the bullshit. I got your calls. After the things you did to mom, I'm not interested in ever hearing from you again," he pauses to run a nervous hand over his face. "It was nice seeing you, but I think you should leave now."

Shocked, Mr. Hale stares at his son. He probably came into the room thinking that after all these years Derek's opinion would change, and he would be welcomed back into the family. Ha. After the shit he put the family through, he's lucky that Derek doesn't call security on him.

"I understand," Mr. Hale manages to regain his composure. "Perhaps, one day we can move past this."

 

Derek swears on his life that he's dreaming when he catches a glimpse of a familiar face peeking into his room. He's just woken up from a nap, and is still feeling kind of groggy when the kid- or the man- walks in. He's changed over the years. His shoulders and arms are filled in with more muscle, and the buzzed hair from his younger years is replaced by a longer style. Shit, he even has facial hair now.

"God, I must've gotten a concussion too," Derek groans. He places a hand to his head to check for any lumps that might suggest a head injury.

The man laughs, the familiar sound causing butterflies to stir up in Derek's stomach.

"Believe it or not, I'm actually here," Stiles plops down in the chair beside Derek's bed as if he belongs there. Seeing him makes Derek's heart ache. He has the urge to run his fingers through that long gorgeous hair.

Shifting his body so that he can be closer to Stiles, he offers a small smile. "What are you doing here? The last time I saw you I was acting like such a dickhead."

"Trust me. I remember," Stiles runs a hand through his hair. "I came to check in on you, and see how you're doing."

Derek shrugs. "I have a torn ACL, but I plan on being back on the court in a year," he takes a moment to pause. "I heard you were in Spain."

"I was."

Derek remains silent, waiting for Stiles to offer up information. When Stiles remains quiet, he continues speaking, "How was that? Was the team any good?"

"Yeah," Stiles shrugs. He leans back in the chair to get comfortable, and Derek's eyes greedily track the way his shirt rides up to expose a small strip of skin. "We beat Italy in the finals. Everywhere you went, they were talking about it," he laughs. "Man, I had my own billboard over there."

"Really?" Derek tries to picture Stiles on a billboard.

"Yeah," Stiles nods his head. "I even saw Ennis while I was over there. He's mellowed out now that we aren't competing for the same spot anymore."

Derek laughs. "It wasn't too much of a competition."

"Oh please," Stiles rolls his eyes. The action alone brings a rush of memories to the front of Derek's mind. He can remember eliciting the same response countless times before he would dip his hands into the waistband of-

"I'm sorry. What was that?" Derek asks. He's just realizing that Stiles is talking.

Stiles fixes Derek with a stern look. "I said," he huffs, "Kali hated me my freshman year." _  
_

"Oh please," Derek tosses Stiles's language back at him. "Kali had a huge boner for you. She thought you had untapped potential. Hell, you got a starting position your freshman year."

Stiles grins. He looks all dopey and happy as if he's remembering all the good times at Beacon University. "Yeah," he sighs. "I guess I did."

Derek clears his throat awkwardly. "Speaking about college," he starts. Stiles raises a questioning eyebrow, and Derek steels himself. He's been waiting years to see Stiles again, so he could say this, and now, he feels like throwing up. The words catch in his throat, and like an idiot, he sits there with his mouth hanging open.

"What about college?" Stiles asks. His tone is guarded as if he knows what topic Derek is going to bring up.

"Well, I uh," Derek stumbles over his words. He stops to take a shaky breath and the words come tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm sorry about the way I treated you when we were dating. I was going through some things, and I was hurting, and I just wanted someone else to hurt." He risks taking a look at Stiles's face. He looks shocked as though he wasn't expecting Derek to apologize, and this encourages Derek to continue.

"I have no excuse for my behavior; I had no right to hurt you the way I did. I was stupid and immature. Nothing I do or say can make up for the shit I put you through, but I want you to know that I'm sorry. I loved you so much, and I still have love for you; that's why I want to apologize."

Stiles gapes at Derek. He looks as though he's in shock, his mouthing opening for a few seconds only to slam back shut. After a few times of opening and closing his mouth, he finally speaks. "I don't know how to respond to that."

"Then don't respond," Derek says. "We were friends before, and I want to think that we can be friends now."

Something changes in Stiles's expression, but it happens too quickly for Derek to decipher it. "Friends," he nods his head slowly. "Of course."

Derek's about to speak again when the door opens again. He turns, a smile forming on his face when he sees Braeden walk into the room. She strides quickly across the linoleum floors, peppering Derek's face with kisses. He drinks up her affection, and immediately, envelops her hand in his.

"Braeden, I want you to meet Stiles," he gestures from Braeden to Stiles a warm smile still on his face.

Braeden lights up when she sees Stiles sitting beside Derek's bed. She thrusts her hand out, nearly smacking the poor boy the face. "It's nice to meet you," she says. "I'm Derek's fiance."

Hesitating, Stiles shakes her hand.

"Derek has told me so much about you," Braeden continues, oblivious to how uncomfortable Stiles looks. "We wanted to send you a wedding invitation, but Derek didn't know your address over in Spain. I guess that since you're home, we can just send it to your parents' house."

Stiles nods dumbly.

Derek sensing Stiles's distress, hooks an arm around Braeden's waist to divert her attention. "Baby, how about we let Stiles get home?" he suggests. "He was just talking about how tired he was, and I'd like to spend some more time alone with you."

Braeden speaks to Stiles with nothing but concern in voice, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to delay you."

"It's fine," Stiles offers her a shaky smile. He stands up, his hands clenching and unclenching. For a second, Derek has the urge to reach over and grab his hand, but something stops him.

"I'll see you two around," Stiles says. He sends the two a last wave and then he's disappearing out the door.

 

Stiles sits in his childhood bedroom across from Scott, clutching his deck of Uno's cards to his chest. Scott is taking his sweet time trying to decide which card to throw down, and each second that passes only increases Stiles's frustration.

"Scott, I swear if you don't just grab a damn card," Stiles explodes. He slams his cards down on the table, uncaring when a few of the cards flutter onto the floor. "It isn't that serious. It's just a stupid, little card game."

Scott looks up at his brother, his lips already twisted into a frown. Just one look at that little pout, and Stiles can feel all of his anger evaporate. He slumps onto the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. A few cards crumple underneath him, but he can't be bothered to move them.

"Life sucks," Stiles complains. He buries his face in his hands. "Derek is getting married to some girl named Braeden. She's so pretty and perfect."

He can hear his brother scoff. "Oh please," Scott shoots back. "Braeden is far from perfect."

Stiles shakes his head. Scott is missing the point here. Braeden could be the ugliest girl in the world, and it wouldn't matter because she has Derek. Something in his heart felt like it was waking up when Derek admitted he still had feelings for him, but seeing him with Braeden crushed him. It would've been better if she was just a friend or a girlfriend, but she's going to _marry_ Derek. Does it make Stiles selfish if he wanted Derek to still want him?

"I just want him to miss me," Stiles murmurs. He peers through his fingers to get a good look at Scott. "What do I do?"

Scott shoots Stiles a sympathetic look. "I felt the same way when I first heard about Isaac and Allison. I was angry, but she moved on," he pats Stiles on the knee. "Once that happened, I had no choice but to move on too."

Stiles groans. Just hearing Scott say that makes the ache in his chest intensify. "That was awful advice."

"Think about it this way," Scott suggests. "I lost Allison, but once I moved on, I got Kira."

"But unlike you, I don't want anyone else." Stiles admits quietly.

"Stiles," Scott murmurs. "It's time to move on."

Jesus, when did Scott become the voice of reason in this family.

 

Deciding that he needs to listen to Scott's advice, Stiles dives into his new life in Beacon Hills. He gets a job working at the police station handling all the boring, menial tasks that his father deems to remedial for the actual officers to complete. He either spends all day in a small, cramped room rearranging the filing system or going on coffee runs. He works so hard that his fingers cramp and his back seems to develop a permanent ache. He makes himself so tired that when he gets home he can barely stand, much less spend time thinking about Derek.

However, his system is flawed. During breakfast, lunch and dinner, he can't help but wonder about Derek. He worries if Braeden knows how to make macaroni the way Derek likes - Derek fucking loves oven baked macaroni. - He reminisces on the times when Derek's family would get invited over to the Stilinski house for dinner or vice versa. Usually, Stiles can easily redirect these thoughts by distracting himself with something else, but during the quieter hours, Stiles can't help it. If he's lying in bed, his fingers mindlessly playing with his nipples, his mind wanders. He doesn't even realize that he's thinking about Derek until his come is splattering across his chest and he's fantasizing of hazel eyes and a beard scratching against his skin.

Seeing Derek is more awkward now that he's the main character of Stiles's wet dreams. Stiles tries to be cordial, but each interaction comes out forced because he hasn't figured out how to sound happy instead of bitter when Derek mentions the wedding.

Eventually, Stiles decides to purge his room - or his side of the room. Semantics, really. - He decides that being reminded of basketball will only remind him of Derek, and if he ever wants to get over Derek, then he needs to get over basketball. He tears down his Magic Johnson posters, and takes down any pictures of him in a basketball jersey. He piles everything into a box, tossing his medals and trophies on top.

Once he's finished, he carries the box into the garage, stuffing it into a dark corner. He's about to leave, and hopefully, forget about the box when something catches his eye. He debates just turning and walking away, but curiosity gets the best of him. He reaches in the box, unable to fight his smile when he realizes what it is. He's found a picture of him and Derek from their senior year of high school. The two of them are wearing tacky, mustard colored graduation gowns, and they have their arms wrapped around each other, staring lovingly into each other's eyes. He fingers the photo, his thumb tracing the outline of Derek's face. When he goes to put it back in the box, for some inexplicable reason, he finds himself tucking the photo into his shirt pocket.

Later that night, when Scott is busy snoring, Stiles pulls out the photo. He's mesmerized by how young and happy they look. It seems like decades ago, and Stiles can't help but smile when he notices the way Derek is looking at him. He presses the photo to his chest, and squeezes his eyes shut. In the darkness, it's easy to pretend that he isn't crying.

 

Derek mindlessly shuffles around his room, packing up his things. His room looks exactly how he left it when he went away to college. A part of him feels guilty for not visiting home, but another part of him stamps down the feeling.

"Hey, Brae," he calls out.

It takes her a minute, but eventually, she responds. "What?"

"How do you feel about putting a few extra bedrooms in the house?" Derek asks. He pictures Cora and Laura visiting him with their mother in tow. "My sisters would love it if we made some room for them, and-"

He's only halfway through with the sentence when Braeden walks in. She's wrapped up in a towel, still dripping water from her shower. She takes one long look at him, her lips twisted into a frown, and he knows that she's going to reject his idea. "I love your family, but we don't need them living with us," she complains. "We have one guest bedroom. Cora and Laura can share a room."

"What about my mom?"

Braeden sighs as if he's irritating her by asking all these questions. "She and Cora can share a room while Laura sleeps on the sofa. Or she can share the room with Laura and Cora can sleep on the sofa," she speaks slow, treating Derek like he's too dumb to keep up. "It's not that complicated."

Derek rolls his eyes. He snatches a basketball off his desk and tosses it into the box of things he's taking with him. "Whatever."

"Yeah," Braeden retorts. She pulls the ball from the box and throws it onto the trash pile. "Whatever."

 

Derek pushes himself to run faster. He has his phone running on a timer, and he's intent on finishing this suicide before it goes off. He throws his body forward right as the timer goes off. He's barely made it, and he's breathing so hard that he can't focus. He feels pathetic. He's been lying on his ass for the past month, and now, he's so out of shape that he can't even run half of his usual amount of suicides. He limps over to the bleachers, tearing his knee brace off along the way.

When he makes it to the bleachers, he drops down, sighing when he feels the cool metal against his flushed skin. He takes a moment to catch his breath, his mind going a mile a minute. Everything about training feels wrong. He's frustrated that he's so slow, but he's also frustrated because he doesn't have the energy to go harder. He feels as though his heart isn't in it.

Derek closes his eyes as he processes this. He supposes his heart hasn't been in the game for a while. He's been mindlessly going to practices and games, only doing enough to ensure that he has a starting position and the fans know his name. However, he doesn't love the game anymore. There was a time when he would be up at five in the morning for a quick run around the block before practice. He would spend hours in the gym honing his skills, and all he could ever talk about was the new plays he wanted to run. Now, he's lucky if he can stomach a twenty minute workout.

Did Stiles feel this way in Spain? Is that why he came home?

 

The water burns Derek as he stands under the spray. He scrubs at his skin trying to wash away the small drops of come. He's been shamelessly masturbating today, and while he knows jacking off doesn't count as infidelity, he can't help but feel dirty. Shit, he was jacking off to photos from Stiles's FaceBook page. They weren't even shirtless photos or anything remotely sexual. They were random pictures of Stiles from his time in Spain. How sexually frustrated do you have to be to orgasm from the sight of a guy holding a paddle board.

Derek's about to step out of the spray when the curtain is yanked back. He leaps back in fear, his hands scrambling to cover his junk. He looks petrified only for a few seconds before his face contorts into a look of annoyance.

"Jesus, Braeden," he tries not to shiver from the sudden blast of cool air. "What the fuck was that for?"

"The Bulls called," she responds ignoring him. "They say that they haven't heard from you since your surgery. They want to know whether or not they're renewing your contract. Apparently, you mentioned that you might be retiring?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "There is no might. I am retiring."

Braeden manages to look offended as if his decision was made purely to irk her. "What are we going to do for money?"

"I've been a starting player for five years, now," Derek shoots back. "We have enough money, and you're still working as an investigator."

"Yes, but I was looking forward to quitting," Braeden argues. She tosses her hands in the air; she's frustrated. "You can't quit."

Derek turns the shower off. He's unwilling to argue with her. She won't get it. Basketball isn't something he's willing to half ass anymore. He's spent long enough pretending to still love the game. It isn't fair to the team or the fans if he doesn't take his job seriously.

"We can talk about it later," he promises. He softens his voice, leaning forward to press a kiss to her cheek. He can feel her anger dissipate, and he congratulates himself on avoiding another fight.

Braeden just shrugs. "Whatever," her mind is already onto the next thing. "I'm going to be gone for three weeks," she mentions.

Derek lifts an eyebrow as he towels himself off. Normally, he might be concerned or sad that she's going to be gone for so long, but today, he can't manage to feel anything.

"I have to fly back to Chicago, so I can testify against this drug dealer I arrested," she explains. "You'll have to meet with the florist while I'm gone."

"Sure."

Derek wonders if he should feel bad that he doesn't care about her departure.

Braeden smiles. She doesn't notice his disinterest. Or if she does notice, she doesn't call him on it. "I'm so glad you're accepting how much I have to travel," she presses a kiss to his lips. "I'm going to pack, okay?" She darts out of the room before he can respond.

He stands there for a moment then sighs. He doesn't want to meet with the damn florist.

 

Stiles steps out of his Jeep, fighting to keep his eyes open. He staggers forward intent on making it to his door when a particularly loud laugh stops him. He freezes on the spot, turning to see Derek leaning against the hood of his black, Camaro.

"You look ready to pass out," Derek calls out. He has a teasing smile on his lips that Stiles can't help but admire.

"I am," he responds. He tugs on his tie so that he has something to do with his hands. Just being around Derek makes him feel like he's a horny teenager.

"Long day at  the office?" Derek jokes.

 Stiles shrugs. "Yeah, I've been doing so much paperwork."

Derek nods his head thoughtfully. Stiles can tell that Derek's mind is wandering. He's about to politely excuse himself when Derek speaks, "Why'd you quit?"

"What?"

"Why'd you quit basketball?" Derek clarifies his question.

"I just wasn't happy anymore," Stiles admits. He thinks back to his time in Europe. For the first few months, the fame was enjoyable; he traveled all over Europe and got to stay in five star hotels. People used to chase him down in the hopes of getting an autograph, and every time he turned on the TV he would see himself. Eventually, he got sick of it.

Derek nods again. "I get that," he responds. "I'm thinking about quitting too."

Stiles won't lie, he's shocked by Derek's admission. All their lives, Derek has been trying to get into the NBA. Hell, he left college so that he could pursue his dream. Basketball was Derek's life back then; what happened?

"It's funny," Derek continues. "When you're young, you have everything all planned out. Then you grow up and nothing turns out the way you thought it would." He grows silent, taking a moment to thoughtfully chew on his lip. "I might go back to school."

"That's great."

"Yeah," Derek laughs suddenly. "Braeden is going to flip a shit when I tell her."

Stiles grins. "You better find a nice way to break it to her," he teases. He glances up at his house, wincing when he notices how Scott is watching them through the kitchen blinds. "Damn it, Scott," he turns to apologize to Derek. "I'm sorry, but I need to go kick my brother's ass for being so nosy."

Derek punches Stiles's arm. "Good luck with that. Scott has put some muscle on."

As he jogs to his house, Stiles tries not to think about the way his stomach flip flops at the feeling of Derek's skin against his.

 

Laura and Cora are scheming again. They've spent he entire meal whispering to each other and giggling like school girls. Occasionally, one of them will lift their heads to look at Derek before returning to their conversation. Derek - the well-mannered brother he is - manages to spend most of the meal ignoring them. However, around Laura's fifth time sneaking a glance at him, he snaps.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" Derek demands. He slams his burger down on the table, causing his silverware to rattle.

Laura eyes him with thinly veiled amusement. "We're just eating dinner, Derek. Calm down."

"Oh, please," Derek points at his sisters with what he hopes is a stern expression. "You've been talking about me the entire meal."

"We just think it's interesting that you and Stilinski are friends again," Cora states. "Are you rekindling old flames?"

Derek lowers his hand, his brain momentarily shutting off. Rekindling old flames? Derek is pretty sure that whatever flame they had has died over the years. The last time he saw Stiles, he was such a dick. If anything, Stiles is just acting polite around him.

"No," Derek shakes his head. "Stiles doesn't think of me like that anymore."

Laura grins, the action making her look downright devious; Derek is man enough to admit that he's a little scared.

"But big brother," Cora teases, "everyone can see that you two have such unresolved sexual tension."

Derek bites his lip. It's probably obvious that Derek has been reminiscing about the times he's had with Stiles. In his defense, everything about Stiles was a walking sex dream. But Stiles has made it pretty clear that he's not interested in Derek. Earlier today, he practically sprinted away after Derek touched him. Not to mention that ever since Derek has been out of the hospital, Stiles has been avoiding him. He's pretty sure he saw Stiles hide behind a display of cabbage to preventing running into him while in the grocery store.

"Baby brother," at least Laura sounds a little sincere, "when you announced your engagement to Braeden, what did I tell you?"

Derek frowns. "You said that I could do better."

"Exactly," his older sister reaches across the table to pat his hand. "When I said that, I was talking about Stiles."

Derek pulls away from Laura. An uneasy feeling is starting to settle in the pit of his stomach, and he pushes his burger away. "I know you two are trying to help, but Stiles doesn't feel that way about me."

"What if he does?" Cora argues. She points her knife at him. "Are you going to throw that away?"

"Damn it, you two. I'm engaged," Derek screams. He stands up, too irritated to listen to them any longer. "I'm getting married in two weeks. Braeden is flying home this Friday," he shakes his head. "You two need to let it go."

Laura tries to say something else, but Derek is already exiting the room. He storms into his bedroom still feeling uneasy. He knows that he hasn't moved on from Stiles, that sometimes he finds himself lying awake at night wondering what the other man is doing. But he's getting  _married_. He can't abandon Braeden on the off chance that Stiles may still have feelings for him.

Derek paces the length of his room, trying to work out his emotions. Every step in the confined space makes him feel claustrophobic, and eventually, he finds himself stumbling towards the window. Without thinking, he yanks the window open and clambers out. Once he's outside, he feels as though he can breathe easier. He takes a moment to catch his breath then he's closing his window and taking off down the street.

Derek isn't sure why he's running, but he knows that there's something soothing about the feeling of the pavement beneath his shoes. While he's moving, he doesn't have to think about anything other than his aching muscles. He can finally have a moment where Stiles isn't on his mind.

By the time Derek returns, all the lights in the house re turned off. Derek creeps the side of the house until he finds his window. He tries to tug it open, but it won't budge. Cursing, he tugs again but the damned thing feels like its locked. Did one of sister's come into the room and lock it?

Sometime during his fight with the window, a light has turned on in the Stilinski household. Derek peers behind him to see where the light is coming form, and he nearly sighs in relief when he notices that it's the light to Stiles's room. He watches as Stiles pulls open his own window, a smile on his face.

"That isn't your window," Stiles says.

"How do you know?" Derek asks. He turns back to his house, frowning. He could've sworn that this was his window.

Stiles laughs. "You had your light on all last night. I couldn't get any sleep," he complains.

Derek sighs. "Can you help me find my window?"

"You seem like you're in a hurry," Stiles teases. He already has one leg out of his window. "Is Braeden expecting you?"

"She's out of town."

There's a long pause before Stiles speaks again. "Can we talk?"

Derek shrugs. "I got time."

Stiles clambers out of his window, gracelessly flopping to the ground. He settles down on a patch of grass between the two houses, and Derek moves to sit beside him. Now that he's in the darkness, Derek can barely make out the features of his face. He has the strange urge to run his fingers over the planes of Stiles's cheekbones, to have his thumbs trace the curve of Stiles's jaw.

Derek stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"You asked me why I quit," Stiles begins. His voice is low, and Derek has to strain to hear it. "I told you I wasn't happy, but the truth is I couldn't play without you."

"Stiles-"

"I've loved since middle school," Stiles admits. "No matter how much time we spent together or how much time we spend apart, I'll always love you. Basketball isn't the same without you. I can't wake up another day and know that you aren't mine."

Derek stands up. He can't listen to this. Not after five years.

"When we were younger, neither of us were ready. I wasn't there for you when you needed me, and you lashed out at me. I'm sorry for all that, but-"

"Stiles, just shut up," Derek interrupts him. "Please, shut up."

Stiles closes his mouth so quickly that he can hear his teeth clack together. He can feel the tears brimming in his eyes, and Derek looks at his feet so he doesn't have to see Stiles in pain.

"Why would you tell me this?" Derek asks. He sounds broken, his voice struggling to get the syllables out.

"I couldn't go another week without telling you," Stiles whispers. His hand finds Derek's, and Derek can't find the strength to pull away. "Derek, I love you."

Derek blinks, sending hot tears down his face. "Stiles," he responds, "I'm getting married. I'm going to have a wife." Derek tries to blink past the tears, but they won't stop coming. "I can't do this."

He tries to step away, but Stiles tightens his grip. "Derek, don't," Stiles's voice hardens, but Derek can still hear the pain underneath it. "You still love me. I know you do."

"I don't," Derek lies.

"Yes, you do," Stiles grabs his face, his hands sending bolts of electricity racing down Derek's spine. "If you don't love me, then play me."

"What?" Derek shakes his head. "You aren't making any sense."

Stiles frowns. "You always said that you let me win because you loved me. So if you don't love me anymore, then you'll win, right?"

"I'm not doing this, Stiles," Derek says.

"One game," Stiles argues. His voice wobbles. "One last game. First to five."

 

Derek and Stiles stand opposite each other. Derek dribbles the ball easily; he hasn't felt this relaxed on a basketball court in years. Everything about this moment seems so right.

"First to five?" Derek asks.

"First to five."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

Derek takes off. He moves quickly, using every skill he's learned to try and shake Stiles. He crosses between legs, does a quick pump fake, then shoots a jumper. The ball arcs through the air coming down straight into the net and securing Derek the first point. He hustles back to the top of the court, feeling even more confident about his decision. Stiles tosses him the ball, crouching down into a defensive position.

"I know you can play harder than that," Derek taunts him as he dribbles.

Stiles snorts. "I'm just going easy on you. I know you're a cripple and all," Stiles points to Derek's leg brace.

Gritting his teeth, Derek pushes forward again. His leg is starting to feel the strain from his earlier burst of energy, and he's struggling to maintain his speed. He drives hard for the basket, going for the layup. Stiles manages to bump him out the way, an obvious foul, that keeps the ball from landing in the net.

Derek stumbles forward barely managing to catch himself before he falls. He turns to yell at Stiles only to see him easily tossing the ball into the net. Derek watches as Stiles takes the ball back to the top of the court, annoyance starting to rise. He takes his position opposite Stiles, pausing only to remove his knee brace.

"That was a cheap shot," Derek complains as he stretches out his leg.

Stiles laughs. "All is fair in love and basketball."

The shock of hearing those words again after so long has Derek faltering. His hesitation gives Stiles an advantage, and he takes it, heading straight for the basket. Derek sprints after him, struggling to catch up.

Stiles nears the basket, and he's confidently setting up for an easy jump shot when Derek shoots forward. He smacks the ball out of Stiles's hand, sending if flying off the blacktop and into the grass.

Stiles looks affronted by the block, and Derek can't help his laughter. "Did you think I was just going to let you score?" He bumps his hip against Stiles. "I'm not going easy on you anymore."

As the game drags on, the two men only grow more intense. They're pushing themselves harder than they've ever worked before. They're blocking shots, hip checking, and making crazy fouls. Derek's sure that tomorrow morning, he's going to have a whole new set of bruises along his arms. His entire body feels numb, and he's worried that he might collapse at any second. Stiles looks only a little bit better than him, but Derek is intent on keeping up. 

Currently, the two of them are tied, 4-4, with Stiles in possession of the ball. He's covered in sweat, his legs shaking as he dribbles, but Derek can see the determination in his eyes. He's not going without a fight.

Stiles dribbles cautiously. He's not charging for the basket, but instead he's moving all around the court, hoping Derek will tire out. Shockingly, Derek is able to keep up every step of the way. He's anticipating Stiles's every move, making it harder for Stiles to get around him.

"What's wrong, Stiles?" Derek jeers, out of breath. "Don't have the balls to take the shot?"

Stiles grits his teeth. He isn't going to let Derek get to him.

"C'mon," Derek pants. "You can't handle a cripple?"

Angrily, Stiles pushes past Derek. He's glides to the basket, effortlessly moving down the court. Derek sprints behind him, struggling to keep up. He can feel a wave of desperation wash over him as Stiles goes for the lay up, and in a last ditch effort, he throws his body forward. The force of the shove sends Stiles stumbling forward, and the ball goes flying away. Stiles scrambles forward, but Derek is faster, easily scooping up the ball. He pivots, and goes for the jump shot.

Time seems to slow down; the two men, sweaty and panting, watch the ball glide through the air. It smacks against the rim, teetering on the edge before it tips into the net.

Derek won.

_Derek fucking won._

Stiles hands tremble as he stands underneath the basket attempting to process what happened. He looks over at Derek, a hollow feeling settling in right behind his breastbone. The other man is staring at his feet, unable to meet Stiles's gaze. Stiles longs for Derek to look up, to look at Stiles and to say  _fuck it_. Fuck the wedding. Fuck Braeden. Fuck anything and everything that isn't Stiles.

Derek remains silent; his eyes remain firmly planted on the ground.

"Derek," Stiles's voice sounds weak. "I guess this is it, huh?" His voice cracks, and he prays that Derek doesn't notice. "This is goodbye, isn't it?"

Derek looks up, his eyes brimming with tears. He takes a moment to look at Stiles. The man in front of him isn't the same one who he played with in middle school, it isn't the same hot head from high school, and it damn sure isn't the same kid from college. No, this Stiles is someone completely different, but Derek can't help but love him the same way he loved the Stiles from middle, high school and college. Derek laughs, bitterly, tears rushing down his face as he looks at Stiles. How could he be so stupid?

Stiles gets ready to leave, trying to ignore the ache in his heart. He takes one step forward when Derek calls him back.

"Hey, Stiles," Derek yells, his own voice quivering. "Double or nothing?"

Stiles turns around so fast that he swears he can hear his neck crack. He stares at Derek in shock, wondering if his ears are betraying him. He must not have cleaned them well earlier today because he could've sworn he heard Derek say-

"Double or nothing?" Derek repeats himself. This time he speaks more firmly.

Sties shakes his head. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying," Derek steps closer, moving so that he and Stiles are barely an inch apart. They're so close that he can feel Stiles's breath against his skin, and he has to fight the urge to lean in and press their lips together. "I don't want to say goodbye."

Stiles lunges forward, his hands cupping Derek's jaw. When he kisses Derek, it's tentative, hesitant, as if he's unsure about whether or not he's allowed to have this. But when Derek pulls him closer, muscular arms wrapping around his waist, Stiles melts into it.

Derek drags his hands up and down Stiles's sides, his fingers mapping out Stiles's body. He's eager to get his hands all over every inch of Stiles's skin. He wants to take him apart piece by tiny little piece and then slowly put him back together again.

"Fuck," Derek gasps into the kiss. "I've missed you. I've missed you. I've missed you." He punctuates each sentence with a kiss, and Stiles hums in pleasure.

"I know. I know."

 

 

The stadium is packed with energetic fans and a few retired players, eager to see the first game of the season. Reporters make their way through the crowd, interviewing the players and throwing out their predictions for the game.

Only a few rows away from the court, Derek Hale stands, bouncing his two year old daughter on his hip. She babbles happily, unaware of the concentrated look on her father's face.

An eager reporter hustles down the stadium steps, working hard to make her way to Derek's row. She manages to discreetly trip another reporter headed the same way as her to ensure that she gets to Hale first. When she finally arrives at his row, she thrusts the microphone in his face, not giving him a chance to turn her away.

"Mr. Hale, how are you tonight?" she asks, out of breath.

Derek laughs, amused by the reporter's energy. "I'm fine."

The reporter nods her head, struggling to catch her breath. "And what are your predictions for tonight's game?"

"My predictions?" Derek looks offended by the question. "Everyone here knows that I'm rooting for the Lakers. I'm from California, and I know that an L.A. team is not going down without a fight."

"A lot of people claim that you're just supporting the Lakers because of your husband-"

"The Lakers are going to win because of my husband," Derek retorts.

Down on the court, Stiles approaches the free throw line. He wears a gold, Los Angeles Lakers jersey with the name Stilinski-Hale and the number 23 stamped on the back. He takes a moment to search the crowd, grinning when he spots Derek and his daughter. He blows them a kiss then turns his attention back to the basket.

Stiles dribbles the ball once, twice, then he shoots.

The crowd watches with anticipation as the ball sails to the net, but Stiles is already hustling down the court.

He knows the ball is going in.

 

GAME


End file.
